Champions of the Deep part 6: Fellblade
by Brother Andyn
Summary: A story of dark heroes and hardbitten fighters, of swords that drink souls and perilous, subterranean adventure.
1. Prologue: The Curse of Soul Edge

Champions of the Deep Fellblade _Scribed by Brother Andyn_

Prologue:

THE CURSE OF SOUL EDGE

1522

The Deeps beneath the Worlds Edge Mountains

'My Lord!' There came a shout from up ahead. Lord Morgan Keppler, Templar Knight of the Order of the Fiery Heart raised his visor and struggled past the bodies of fallen orcs. He sheathed his blood-slick blade and made his way to the mouth of the next tunnel. The man-at-arms was crouching near a set of small footprints in the dust. They led deeper into the caves.

'Well? Is it the goblins?'

'Looks like it. We should follow these.' The man indicated the tunnel.

'Come on,' Morgan roared to the rest of his troops. 'Victory is near!'

For three weeks the small army had been marching through the passages beneath the Worlds Edge Mountains. When they had started out, they had numbered two hundred men. Now they were fifty. Beastmen, orcs, natural hazards and traps had all taken their toll on the Templar's soldiers. Now, after a vicious fight with a band of orcs and goblins, Morgan was sure triumph over the goblinoids was close. And, he hoped, a whole heap of dwarven treasure to cheer up the survivors. After all, Mount Gunbad was known for its abandoned gold mines.

The tramp of booted feet filled the dank air as the remnants of Morgan's warband emerged into a large cavern. It was at least fifty feet across, by Morgan's estimate, big enough to set up a campsite. Giant stalactites hung from the blackness above like great fangs and huge clusters of gemstones glinted in the torchlight.

'Brynduraz,' Morgan mused to himself, his eyes alighting on the awesome blue crystals. 'Brightstone. The dwarves will pay greatly for this. Come, men…'

But the men weren't paying attention. With a howl of excitement, they threw down their weapons and rushed across the chamber. On the far side gaped a massive hole, a black maw from which spewed a veritable hoard of gold nuggets.

'Wait!' Morgan shouted, 'it could be a trap! What would a heap of treasure be doing just sitting there…' As glad as he was for the men, he was more than a little suspicious. So much gold collected in one place…someone had collected it all and placed it there, it was certain.

As the soldiers waded into the pile of gold and started shovelling it into their packs, savage greed written upon their faces, a black-fletched arrow hissed through the air and imbedded itself in the wall nearby. Too late, the men began to retreat, but soon more arrows were falling around them. The ambush was sprung.

'Time to die, human things!' A high-pitched laugh sounded from a narrow ledge above, hidden in the gloom. 'Attack, my warriors! Kill the humans!'

With a growl, Morgan unsheathed his sword and twirled it experimentally. The rain of arrows continued, and with a grinding sound, a stone slab slid back in one of the walls.

'Finally,' the templar snarled as hordes of goblin warriors poured from the opening like a tide of black cockroaches.

With a swirl of steel and a bitter war cry, the cut and thrust of close combat ensued.

Morgan slashed left then right, goblin bodies falling to the floor in a fountain of blood. He parried as a goblin's axe came arcing down towards him, before rolling his wrist and sending his blade into the beast's neck. The creature shrieked and died, its corpse pitching backwards to impede its fellows. The templar lashed out, taking another goblin's head from its shoulders, and then killing another with the backhanded strike. Blood soaked the cavern floor.

Men fought viciously with halberd, sword and spear as the greenskins sought to defend their plunder. The goblins were weak and died in droves, but they outnumbered the soldiers at least five to one. Morgan slaughtered his opponent, driving his blade through its skull and paused to take in a view of the fighting. The men were losing the battle. They had courage, and empire-forged steel, but the numbers of the goblins were too great. He watched as a halberdier was surrounded and cut down by seven greenskin warriors. A spearman impaled a goblin, only to be impaled in return as three goblin spears skewered his body. A swordsman clashed with no less than five enemies. He managed to kill two, running one through and slicing across another's jugular, but was felled by a blow from behind. The arrows continued to descend on the hapless men. A shaft sprouted from the throat of the company standard. Another pinned a soldier's sword arm to the wall, leaving him open to his opponent's attack. The goblin was merciless, slashing open the man's gut and then stabbing him in the chest. The clamour of steel was off set with the cries of the dying.

Gradually, the men-at-arms fell victim to the might of the goblin host. Morgan roared like a beast and took a goblin's head off and slashed the sword arm from another. His next blow chopped clean though his foe's torso, toppling it in a pile of blood and gore. Arrows whistled around him, but only one hit its mark, glancing off his pauldron. Slowly, the raging battle dimmed until the last of his men lay dead and he was surrounded by a snickering circle of greenskin filth.

Raising his bloody sword, he prepared to lay down his life in the name of Sigmar.

'Bring it on, goblinoid scum,' he spat, every word dripping with venom. 'You may take me, but I'll take a hundred more of you bastards with me.'

Suddenly the ring of goblins parted as their leader made its way through the masses. An evil sneer escaped from the monster's lips. It held a glowing sword in its dirty claws. This was no ordinary sword, Morgan realised. It was a magical blade, perhaps forged by the dwarves. The chieftain shoved the goblins out of its way and pointed its sword at Morgan Keppler.

'You, human! You will fight me, Skullbasha. Raaa!'

Morgan issued no reply as he charged at the goblin leader.

The two swords met with a burst of sparks. Reaching forwards, Morgan punched the goblin in the face, sending it reeling. As the creature stumbled, he renewed his attack, gripping his sword in two hands. The sword came scything down, taking off the goblin's left arm. A gout of blood pumped from the wound, and the goblin screamed in pain. Morgan kept up his assault, raising the blade for another strike. This time the chieftain parried, sending shock waves up Morgan's arm. He kicked out, knocking the goblin over and again he prepared to kill the slimy scum. But the goblin rolled away from where the sword bit into the earth. Hacking and slashing with vengeful rage, Morgan followed the goblin chief as it tried to defend itself from his fury. The other goblins moved away, caught up in the spectacle and excitement of the duel. Blood continued to pump from their chief's severed arm, spattering the knight's armour and leaving a gory path around the chamber. The goblin was no match for Morgan, but the strange sword it carried seemed to give it enough power to protect itself from a quick death.

Hours passed as the exhausted combatants battled. Morgan didn't hold anything back. He had nothing to lose. His men were dead, his chances of surviving this venture and returning to the surface was gone. The treasure would do little for a dead man. Finally, breathing heavily, he tripped the chieftain up with his blade, flicking it onto its back. Raising his sword above his head, he prepared to kill his opponent. It was to be his undoing.

In a flash, the goblin rolled aside and struck out with the evil sword. It cleaved Morgan's breastplate, drinking deep of his crimson blood. He paused, unbelieving. Gritting his teeth in pain, he closed his eyes. Was this it? Was it over? The blade twisted, and he jerked forwards in agony. Slowly, he lowered his arms and, giving one last howl of vengeance, swung his sword downwards in a deathly arc.

The goblin chieftain's head rolled across the cavern floor.

As Lord Morgan Keppler crumpled, dark whispers echoed in his mind. There was a painful tug, as his entire spiritual being was pulled from his dying body. What…he thought, but blacked out as the evil sword hit the ground with a metallic clang.

When he woke up, he looked around at his new world. It was a world of shifting colours and lights. It was a world alien to him, but all so familiar. It was a world of imprisoned souls.

And then, he realised what had happened.

His soul was trapped within the sword. And as far as he knew, it was forever.

3


	2. Chapter 1: Eternal Damnation

_Fellblade_

I

Eternal Damnation

Magnus' sword clashed against the beastman's blade. The Gor warrior issued a vicious roar, and the knight could see chunks of half-eaten flesh trapped between the monster's fangs. Raising his weapon, he pushed forwards, shoving the beastman back a step with brute force. Taking advantage of its hesitation, he swung low and cut through the Gor's leg. It fell to the ground with a bray of fear, and with a twirl of his blade, Magnus plunged his steel downwards into the monster's chest. There was a howl of pain as his armour was spattered.

The Red Wolves had fought their way out of the burning city, taking the road and then hacking a path through the thickets of the surrounding forest. Progress was slow, the horses were not woodland creatures, and it took time travelling in this hostile environment. In addition, Siareth insisted on bringing a packhorse, loaded with gold and relics he had long since plundered from the Glint treasury. It was slowing them down, but the warlock was adamant that the Aldenheim treasury would be expanded. Cursing the warlock to the high heavens, Magnus kept his feelings silent. There would come a time when he would be free. Gods willing, that time was near.

He looked over to his companions as they battled desperately against the beastman warband. The outlaw Kurt Waldheim was kicking out with his hob-nailed boots and laying into the beasts like a madman. Nothing could stop him in this state, it seemed. His swords flashed in his hands, a mere extension of his body. He was surrounded by a circle of dead Gors.

Merideon, the young noble resplendent in tunic, hose and feathers, was fighting well, the style of his family overpowering the blunt strength of the Gors with its cut and thrust. Magnus noted his own sister, Gabrielle, watching the noble intently from the back of his white charger. Interesting that she should fall in with Merideon, Magnus thought. But then, she always was one for romantic types. She noticed him watching her and he gave a quick nod of acknowledgement. Any man who fought to protect his sister was worthy of his respect. Suddenly, another Gor approached the horse from behind. Before it could launch its attack, Gabrielle twisted, pulling a pistol from her belt. There was a blast of smoke as the Gor's head exploded in a shower of blood. Well done, sis, the knight thought, smiling to himself as he turned his attention to Legless, the elf scout.

A shadowy figure clad in the shifting cloak of the elves, darting in and out of the dappled sunlight amidst the trees, he took shot after shot at the brutish figures of the enemy. Each arrow found its mark, pitching a Gor into the dirt. Soon the earth was covered in the corpses of the slain. A mysterious and yet intriguing figure, was Legless. Magnus didn't know what destiny lay in wait for the elf.

The only person not fighting was the warlock, Siareth. The robed man sat on the back of his black stallion, counting gold pieces. As he dropped the last of his crowns into a red pouch, a beastman warrior reared up behind him, its bloody axe raised. Grimacing, Magnus threw his throwing knife. The small blade span end over end before it caught in the Gor's throat. Blood splashed over Siareth, and the warlock looked up, as if bothered by an insect. Magnus snarled.

Sure, teamwork was what fighting together was all about, but this was ridiculous. If that man was simply going to count his profits while he did all the hard work, the fighting, the warlock had another thing coming. It was time for a change. Gold and glory was one thing, but it was something he was slowly growing tired of. Cutting down another Gor with a backhanded cut, he stabbed another in the chest just as the last Gor fell to the earth, dead.

'Good work, friends. Rest, drink, we'll be moving on within the hour.' Magnus directed a dirty look towards Siareth as he sheathed his sword and stalked off into the woods.

The flames glimmered in Magnus' eyes as he crouched by the campfire, warming his hands.

'You're ruining your night vision.' It was a woman's voice. 'Even I know about that.'

Magnus turned to stare up at Gabrielle as she stood over him, hands on hips.

'I don't care,' he sighed, turning back to the fire. 'I don't care anymore. If anyone attacks us, I'll kill them.'

Gabrielle sat down, cross-legged, and stared off into the darkness.

'You know, you've gone through a phase like this before. I know you, Magnus.'

'Do you?' Magnus twisted around to look into her eyes. 'It's different now. The things I've done…'

'What things? You've been gone a long time. Tell me what you did on your adventures.'

Magnus averted his eyes. He remained silent.

'Come on, you can tell me. I'm your sister. You can tell me anything.'

'Can I?' Magnus picked up a branch and stoked the fire. 'Hmmm…you'd probably hate me.'

There was an awkward silence.

Gabrielle moved her arm and touched his shoulder. For a moment he felt the thrill only a woman's touch can bring. Then he dismissed it and shrugged.

'Okay. But promise me you won't up and leave.'

'Merideon is a good man. I can see through him. I won't leave him, so as long as you lot stick together…'

'I don't really find that reassuring.'

'Very well, Mags, I won't leave your little band. Besides, I couldn't make it on my own.'

Magnus considered that. She had a point. She had been in Glintburg all her life…there was no way she'd survive a single week out here in the wilderness. He shifted around so that he was facing away from the fire. And then he began his tale.

'Do you remember the day I fought that lion…'

Three weeks had passed as they travelled across the plains. They were riding over green seas, a burning blue sky soaring overhead. A zephyr whispered across the grass and Gabrielle's hair shone like liquid gold. Already Magnus could see the mountains looming on the horizon, like a rocky wall; the very edge of the world. Somewhere in the foothills, by the flowing waters of the Blood River, lay Aldenheim, his new home. It would be good to be back. This adventuring stuff really takes a toll on the body, he thought.

'Time to take a break,' the knight roared, 'I'm saddle-sore. Hey, did you hear me?'

'Bandits!' Came Merideon's voice at the head of the column. 'Prepare to fight!'

There was the telltale sound of swords being released and in front of him Legless notched an arrow to his bow.

'Back on your horse, Magnus,' Kurt rasped. 'The bandits are on foot. It's time for mounted combat!'

The thunder of hooves announced Merideon spurring the charge towards their foes.

'Yar! Time to die, peasant scum!'

Magnus rolled his eyes. Another fight and he was damned saddle-sore. Grasping the saddle horn, he pulled himself back onto his chestnut mare.

'Out of the way, Siareth! Magnus is going into battle!'

The walls of Aldenheim reared up like soaring cliffs. As the Red Wolves approached the western gate, they marvelled at the architecture. It was a mixture of imperial and dwarven, strengthened by buttresses and decorated with a proud set of ramparts. The riders passed beneath the great gates and Magnus noticed a group of smiths gathering in the courtyard.

'Greetings, dwarven folk.' The knight hailed the dwarves with a raised fist. The leader, a well-built stonemason with a fiery beard, strode forwards. He clutched a heavy sledgehammer in one hand. 'Grimvarr, I take it?'

'Aye, that I be, laddie,' the dwarf replied gruffly. 'You lot would be the Red Wolves then.'

'That we are, master dwarf,' Siareth drawled, hauling on the reins and dismounting. He pulled out a small bag of coins. It was much smaller than the amount he seemed to be counting before, Magnus noted. 'Your payment, as agreed.'

As Kurt, Merideon and Legless dismounted and headed towards the stables with the horses, Grimvarr upended the purse into his brawny hand. Grimacing, he raised an eyebrow and glared up at the warlock.

'A little short, is it not?'

'The exact amount I agreed to pay you for your…magnificent alterations to our town,' Siareth snapped, glancing about the sturdy fortifications.

'I think we have a problem,' Grimvarr growled, stuffing the gold back into the bag. 'One hundred crowns, that was my…reduced price. You're thirty crowns short.'

'Well you're too short as it is,' Siareth sneered. 'Clear out of Aldenheim before sunset, or…'

'Or what, human? You'll get your minions onto me?' The dwarf issued a harsh laugh. Suddenly, he struck out with the back of his fist. Siareth crumpled and fell to the ground. Before Grimvarr could follow up, Magnus strode between the two, his sword drawn.

'Master Grimvarr, There must be some sort of…miscommunication. I'm sure we can come to an understanding.' The last thing they needed was for the dwarves to kill Siareth and knock down the walls they had spent so long building. It would deprive Aldenheim of its much needed defences. For a moment the dwarf was silent, his eyes fixed on Magnus' own.

'Very well, Magnus of the Red Lion.' He turned to glare daggers down at Siareth, who was struggling to his feet, nursing a bloody nose. 'I'll take this seventy crowns, plus you will carry out a mission for me.'

'What sort of mission?'

'You will travel to Mount Gunbad, which is north of here. There you will recover an amulet that once belonged to the Orc warlord, Azhag. Azhag's skull is also there. I want them both, do you hear me, human?' Grimvarr's eyes were ice cold.

Magnus nodded. There was no use denying the dwarf's request. Who knows what friends he had? For all they knew, a dwarf army could be sent to destroy the entire town.

'Good. I shall await your return. I'm sure the best quarters will be made available to me and my smiths while you are gone.'

'Indeed they are, Master Grimvarr. We will, uh, set out in two days' time.'

'What on earth were you thinking?' Siareth spat at Magnus, as they rode north along a path that led through the Worlds Edge Mountains. 'This venture could well get us all killed.'

'The last venture could've done that,' Magnus retorted. For a moment he expected a slight hum of pain in his head, but nothing came.

'The last venture was almost completely unprofitable,' Kurt spoke up. He held the Star of the West in his hand. He gave it a good rub, so that it glittered in the sunlight. 'Almost.'

'Well, you think that trinket was worth it,' Merideon chuckled. He glanced behind him. Aldenheim was already lost on the horizon, but he knew who awaited him back there. 'My prize was the greatest of them all. The Spirit Blade and the Star cannot compare…'

'Whatever you think, Merideon,' Kurt scoffed, his eyes remaining fixed on his gemstone.

'Back to the topic,' Legless sneered, 'how did you expect to cheat a dwarf of his gold, warlock? They care so little about anything else.'

Siareth set his face in a grimace. Spurring his stallion, he galloped off up the path.

'What's up with him?' Magnus asked.

'Who cares,' Kurt replied. 'He doesn't win any of the treasure anymore.'

The doors yawned wide, the blackness between them ready to consume the unwary traveller. All around the entrance skulls had been impaled on stakes, and human skeletons littered the roadway. Huge clusters of greenish fungus huddled just inside the rockface, feeding on the dead flesh.

'The lair of the Orc Lord Gorgut, apparently,' Kurt said gleefully.

'Here we go again,' Magnus moaned.

'If you don't want to enter, go back,' Siareth snarled.

'Out of the way, bickering fools,' the outlaw snapped, drawing his swords and pushing past. 'Hurry up, I need a light here!'

The t-junction made them pause, their lamplight flickering in the eerie darkness.

'We split up,' Legless volunteered. 'It's not so dark, I can use my vision to penetrate the gloom.'

'I'll come with you,' Merideon said uneasily. 'If we're going to split, it'll be safer this way.'

'Very well,' the elf nodded. The noble slipped a metal circlet around his brow and there was a brief flash of energy. 'You can see in the dark with that relic?'

'I can,' Merideon confirmed. 'We'll see you lot later. Coming, elf?'

'Then we'll go this way,' Kurt gestured with his orcish blade. 'Let's hope there's some gold.'

Siareth grunted something unintelligible and he, the outlaw and the knight started down the dwarven road.

The deep roar of the greenskinned monsters echoed throughout the caves. The elf and the noble looked out from behind a rocky outcrop into a large, abandoned hall. Small windows high up let in a minimal amount of light, in wide, blue-white beams. A crude platform stood in the centre, cluttered with barrels, tables and other junk, all of it the primitive design of orcish hands. A shaman was chanting in the goblinoid tongue, surrounded by his brutish bodyguards.

'There,' Legless pointed, 'on the platform. Can you see it, human?'

'What is it?' Merideon squinted. Something glinted in the pale light. 'Is it the amulet?'

'Indeed. Here's the plan. You distract the orcs, I'll handle the shaman, and get the amulet.'

'Very well, I can do that.' Merideon unsheathed his rapier. 'Ready?'

'Go, before the shaman finishes his spellcasting.' Legless unslung his bow and fitted an arrow to his bowstring. 'I fear this fight will be no challenge to my skills.'

'Oh don't worry, my friend. It hasn't been challenging in a while.'

Lord Merideon strode calmly out from behind the rocks. He smiled nastily, flicking his hair back and swishing his blade expertly. He was experienced enough to take on six orcs by himself now. Of that there was no question.

'Orcish peasants!' He called, giving a laugh. 'You fools. Did you really think your foul gods would allow you to complete your loathsome ritual here? Let us celebrate your demise!'

Orc Lord Gorgut stared down from his fur-covered throne at the intruders into his realm. There was a humie dressed in robes, carrying a staff. Probably some weak wizard fool. Another humie, strangely enough armed with an orcish sword. The thief would have to die! That was orc property, not for the likes of the filthy humies! Swearing inwardly to get it back, Gorgut turned his attention to the third human. The man was tall, and solidly built, and clad in armour. This would be a worthy opponent, he thought. Opening his fang-lined maw, he issued a warcry and thundered down the first set of steps that lined his high dais. The sword in his hands writhed.

'Waaagh! Kill da humies!'

In response to his command, his Big Un warriors charged towards the invaders.

The greenskin monsters rumbling towards them were like nothing Magnus had ever seen. These were bigger, more heavily muscled and obviously more powerful than any other orcs he had fought. They were blocks of solid strength, their arms corded with sinew and their weapons massive. One successful hit from one of those weapons could end his life right here.

'Siareth, get back! I'll handle these beasts!'

'Like I need telling,' the warlock hissed, stepping back through the doorway as the Big Uns approached like raging titans.

Kurt twirled his swords. Without a word, he rushed forward to meet them. A huge axe cleaved the air and he dodged aside, slicing across the orc's leg. With a howl, it turned to meet him, but he had already twisted and skirted around the beast, sinking his orcish blade deep into its back. Pulling the sword free, he unleashed a fountain of blood and lashed out with his boots. He smashed the orc onto its face, but the beast was tough. Rolling aside, it clambered up and seized Kurt in its meaty fists. Letting go with one hand, it pummelled the outlaw bloodily, snapping Kurt's head to one side. Snarling as blood dripped from his nose, Kurt dropped his swords and thrust out with his gauntlets.

'Eat dwarf runes you scum!' His two fists crashed together on the orc's head, sending shockwaves of agony through the creature. It released its grip and rolling his shoulders, Kurt dropped and picked up his swords. Then he went to work again, slashing blindly at the orc's body. Gouts of blood stained the flagstones. As the Big Un recovered, a second orc took an opportunity to engage Kurt. The outlaw grinned. As the cleaver swept through the air, he ducked just in time. The notched blade missed him by inches and with limited space, it slammed into the wounded orc, slaying it with a howl of pain. Snarling in anger, the orc turned on Kurt as the outlaw thrust his blades upwards towards the beast's chest.

Magnus was locked in bloody battle. One might say that it was perhaps…his time. He weaved a gold web around himself as the orc warlord's minions surrounded him. Blood sprayed messily as his sword flashed, painting his armour and the cavern walls alike. Axes and cleavers hacked and cut their way around him, making it seem that he fought in a forest of steel and iron. The edge of a blade cut through his pauldron, hurling him to the ground. Quickly, he rolled aside as another axe imbedded itself where he had just lain. Smashing his shield into the orc's face, he chopped with the Blade of Leaping Gold, nearly taking the other orc's head from its shoulders. As he pulled desperately, trying to dislodge the blade from the spurting orcish filth, partially blinded by the gushing blood, a cleaver came arcing towards his sword arm. Just in time, he bent his arm to save it being severed. But the blade still made contact. It nicked his forearm, cutting through the chainmail and Magnus let out a howl of pain. Instinctively, he kicked out, knocking the offending orc off its feet. The cleaver fell to the ground with a clang. Letting go of the gold sword, he leapt upon the downed orc, bashing it repeatedly with his shield. Then he felt himself being removed from his foe as another Big Un picked him up and threw him aside. He collapsed to the floor with a rattle of metal and a painful gasp. The orcs were tough, but he was tougher, he told himself. Struggling to his feet, he cleared the blood from his eyes, pulled off his helmet and hurled it spitefully at the standing orc. It cracked as it hit the beast, its soiled feather coming loose and falling to be trampled beneath the monster's iron-toed boots.

'Time to die, you greenskinned bastards,' Magnus roared. Flexing his arm, he grasped the Blade of Leaping Gold and gritting his teeth, he wrenched it out from the orc's neck. The pain was immense, but he could take it. He could suffer it, as long as he killed these daemons.

The Big Un thundered towards him like a god. Every detail stood out to his eyes as its huge axe came scything down. His sword leapt up to parry. There was a burst of sparks as the two weapons met, and then Magnus rolled his forearm and stabbed the orc in the gut. Droplets of blood sprinkled from his own wound, but he didn't care. The orc laughed and backhanded him, sending him sprawling. He could feel broken teeth in his mouth. Pain flared all across his body. Get up, his mind screamed; get up before the orc kills you. The beast reached down with one hand and threw him against the wall. Its axe came up and smashed into his shield with a metallic clunk. Giving a cry, he dropped it, realising he had just lost a part of his defence. As he slumped, the axe was raised again for another strike. His body didn't respond. The axe bit into his breastplate. It cleaved through the metal, chain and leather and cut an inch into his chest. Gritting his teeth constantly, he forced his body to move as the axe was withdrawn. Move, you idiot, his mind told him. Move or die. That was how it would be.

As the axe came again, he summoned up his inner reserves of strength, hoping it would save him. The orc was laughing, in that hated, goblinoid tongue. Its weapon was aimed at his neck.

He ducked.

The massive blade took a chunk out of the rock, sending splinters of stone flying everywhere. Dust and rubble clouded the air as Magnus launched himself away from the wall. In the confusion, he stumbled towards Kurt as the outlaw battled with another Big Un. Together they'd stand more of chance. They were supposed to be a team.

But before he could get there, he was thrown to the ground again. Above, the orc burst into laughter as it stood over him, holding is axe in two hands. Swearing inwardly, he pulled out his throwing knife.

'Take this, you bastard,' he murmured as the knife span and sank into the orc's throat. The beast keeled over and Magnus sighed in relief. His body felt broken in a dozen places, and he knew it probably was. But there was still the warlord on the dais. He had to be killed if they were getting out of here alive. As if to confirm the point, Gorgut bellowed with terrible rage.

'No, not yet,' Magnus breathed, but it was too late. Gorgut rampaged down the steps and attacked the knight. The stench of blood, death and unwashed leather assailed Magnus' senses.

The orc was bigger than the Big Uns. He was colossal, a huge beast with arms like tree trunks. His helmet was crowned with horns and his eyes glowed with an insane, inner light. But it was the monster's sword that captured his attention. The sword gleamed evilly. It was clearly an enchanted weapon, one that exuded evil and had been forged by some devilish sorcerer eons ago. It stank of darkness, of tainted energy, of the promise of certain destruction. And there was something else about the sword. He couldn't tell what it was…it was more terrifying than anything he had ever encountered. There was something chaotic about its blade, a blade that shifted with countless bright colours and lights. They had a hypnotic effect, dazzling him.

His mind was brought back to reality as the massive sword slashed down into his body. Nothing resisted its path of destruction. Then he was kicked savagely from the warlord's weapon. He was thrown backwards, crashing to the floor. The Blade of Leaping Gold flew from his hand. Pain flooded his entire being. He could feel broken ribs and a crushed lung. His throat was wet with blood. Before he could get up, an enormous boot planted itself on his chest. He coughed up crimson. Through hazy vision, a dark form loomed above. He could hear laughter.

'You dare invade Gorgut's lair, humie? Now you will pay with your soul!'

'What?' Magnus tried to speak through lips crusted with blood. 'Orc bastard…'

Gorgut laughed again.

'Even when you're dead, you humies are proud scum!' Gorgut raised his sword above his head. 'Now, give me, give me your soul!'

'No,' Magnus roared, trying to move aside. His body did not respond. 'Not like this!'

Soul Edge came sweeping down.

From the darkness beyond the doorway, Siareth watched, unmoved and unemotional. Kurt, wiping the orc blood from his face, stood stunned as Magnus Glint was slain by Gorgut.

Before Magnus lost consciousness, he felt one last agony. Dark whisperings echoed in his mind.

'The time is ripe, you shall become a part of me.'

With an infernal shriek, the evil sword dragged his spirit from his mortal shell. It was a strange feeling, as his soul was sucked out of him and dumped into the blade alongside the many others already imprisoned. Bodiless, he shifted and swirled amidst the brilliant colours and dazzling lights. Was this it? Was this how it ended, his soul trapped forever with the sword? Evil laughter surrounded him, penetrated him, filling him with an all-consuming despair.

This was the end.

'No!' Kurt shouted, his voice screaming with a mixture of pain and confusion. 'No!'

Gorgut roared with laughter, Soul Edge still wedged in Magnus' body. He was invincible. There was no way the other two humies could defeat him. He would reclaim that orc sword and kill them both. And then he'd take their souls.

He was about to lift Soul Edge from Magnus when several arrows sprouted from his chest. Pain flared where they had stuck in his spine, like needles. Surprised, he looked down, even as another volley impaled his throat. He faltered, his grip on Soul Edge failing.

'What? Treachery! Humie scum…'

There came another shout, accompanied by a pistol shot.

'Orc peasant! Know your place in this world!'

Gorgut's head exploded with a shower of blood and brain matter.

As the orc lord's corpse swayed, then pitched backwards, Soul Edge clattered to the floor. Its blade, however, remained in Magnus' body.

'Quick,' Kurt gasped, almost to himself. He tore open his pack, digging around until he unearthed a small gem that glowed with the light of dawn. Kneeling down by Magnus, he held the Dawnstone over the knight's forehead. 'Come on, come on, work, you bloody thing…'

Inside Soul Edge, Magnus felt a powerful spirit stirring. It was ancient, at least a thousand years, and was not unlike himself. It was the soul of a templar, a knight pledged to Sigmar's wars against the goblinoids. A strange light began to shimmer near him, and suddenly there was a blinding flash that seemed to last for eternity.

When he came to, he was lying on the ground. Was he dead? No, he was alive. Thank the gods he was alive. He couldn't believe that Kurt had used his Dawnstone on him. A burning heat rushed through his veins. It travelled the length of his entire body, healing him, revitalising him. His broken bones were mended, his body strengthened again and the gashes in his body were closed up. As the energy restored him, he realised he would owe his life to Kurt Waldheim.

He wanted to shout with joy, but he couldn't. He opened his mouth, but his mouth didn't open. It was then that he felt a presence, another soul, suppressing his own within his body.

He opened his eyes. Kurt, Siareth, Merideon and Legless were standing around him. They seemed generally relieved that he was alive. The elf was clutching an amulet and an orc skull in his hands. He wanted to talk to them, but instead he heard another voice that was not his own. It was deep and rich, the voice of someone noble and strong. It was a voice that held authority, power and influence. It was not his voice.

'…Took a blow to the head,' he heard himself say. 'That sword…it did something to me. My voice may be a little different, but…it's me, Magnus. I see you got the artefacts…'

Suddenly he knew. It was the templar. The name flashed into his mind. Morgan Keppler, Templar of the Fiery Heart, had been slain by Soul Edge long ago. He had waited for a chance such as this, a chance to escape. When it had been presented to him in the form of a new body, Magnus' body, he hadn't hesitated.

Magnus was then confronted with a horrible truth.

He had been resurrected, given another chance at life. Only this time, he would have no power whatsoever over anything. He was completely helpless, a trapped soul, little better than one captured within the evil sword, Soul Edge.

His entire existence would depend on someone else.

He was damned, within his own body. Forever.

7


	3. Chapter 2: A Knife in the Dark

_Fellblade_

II

A Knife in the Dark

The clash of tankards rang against the roar of drunken men, the laughter of mercenaries, and the melody of minstrels' lutes and horns, all sharing the tavern atmosphere of the Black Prince. Amidst the cracked, wooden tables, the stench of dried blood and the din of drinking fools, the Red Wolves gathered to celebrate their victory. Magnus lived, against terrible odds, and even though they didn't get on that well, it was still a time for feasting and alcohol. Siareth, mumbling something about more important matters, had not joined them.

This of course was met by the rolling of eyes and an impatient huff as the rest barged through the doors, eager to quaff vast quantities of their favourite drinks.

'So,' Magnus bellowed, tipping back his fourth ale, 'this is where we are treated like lords, eh?'

'Perhaps that ale has gone to your head quicker than you realised,' Legless chuckled. 'You seem to have lost your memory.'

'Of course, the Black Prince, how could I have forgotten,' the knight guffawed.

'Another Bretonnian red, elf?' Merideon slapped Legless on the shoulder, and hailed the barkeep jovially. 'After all, only peasants drink that foul brew they call beer.'

'Indeed,' Legless agreed. 'Bring it to us, man, or I'll use you for target practice!'

'There's nothing wrong with beer!' Kurt laughed, draining his tankard and shouting at the barkeep for more. The poor man was rushing back and forth, carrying a silver tray laden with pewter tankards. Kurt breathed in the atmosphere. This was the life, away from the heavily regulated townships of the Empire. The smells, the sounds, the tastes, this was for him. Plus there were plenty of things to touch as well, he thought as a barmaid passed by him. He seized her around the waist and dragged her onto his lap, while she blushed furiously and tried not to struggle.

He grinned as a bottle flew across the room to shatter audibly against the far wall. There was an explosion of cheers as one of the barmaids got up on the table and started showing off her petticoat in a rather crude dance to the music. Men, heavily under the influence, roared and banged their fists on the table, their eyes blazing with open lust. There was a loud crash as a brawl started in a corner. Yes, Kurt thought, this was the life.

After a while, the four of them were drunk. But they were the lords of Aldenheim; no one was going to throw them out.

'You know, Siareth's quite mad,' Magnus whispered conspiratorially.

'Yes, I noticed that before,' Kurt snapped, 'he's not drinking!'

'Ah, but he must have a plan,' Legless joined in, 'these filthy humans, they're cunning, you know!'

'Watch your tongue,' Merideon spat.

'Impossible, human, my tongue doesn't come out far enough.'

'Oh, very funny, I laugh at your non-humanness.'

'Back to the topic,' Magnus roared, slamming his fist down on the table, spilling ale and knocking aside wooden bowls. 'I'm taking a journey. Who's with me?'

'And where would a peasant like you go,' Merideon scoffed. 'Have you even any money?'

'Silence, boy!' Magnus rose to his feet, unsheathing his sword. The dark blade glinted evilly in the lamp light, silently hungering for the souls it craved. 'Peasant, huh?'

'I…keep forgetting you picked that damned weapon up,' Kurt said momentarily. 'I guess it could come in handy every now and then.' He eyed the blade's edge.

'Very well, let us duel, as we are destined to,' Merideon said coolly.

Kurt grabbed both and wrenched them back to their seats. His head was spinning, but he had to know what Magnus was on about. A journey?

'Where are you going, sir knight?'

Magnus was silent for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts.

'I haven't been to Middenheim for so long! City of the White Wolf, that's where I'm headed! Who's with me?'

Kurt sighed. Back into the Empire…he knew he couldn't do that without great risk. And just when he was beginning to enjoy this evening's session. He frowned.

'What do you mean, it's been so long…have you ever been to Middenheim?'

'Of course I have! Many years ago, when I was deciding which templar order to join! Though I ultimately chose not to enlist with the White Wolves.'

There was an awkward silence.

'It must be your head,' Merideon mused. 'I think you hit it hard…'

'I will accompany you,' Legless cut through, his eyes glinting. 'There are rumours that an inhuman assassin prowls there. Such a challenge is one to be met by elven abilities.'

'Yes,' Magnus growled, his eyes strangely alight. 'The scum of evil will perish!'

'Waldheim, are you coming?' The elf was eager to get away from this blight hole. It was too close to the Worlds Edge anyway, realm of the hated Dwarves.

'Well _I_ certainly am,' Merideon nodded his head. 'I'm sure Gabrielle will enjoy the sights of the Empire. She's barely been out of that backwater she was born in.'

Kurt was suddenly aware of three pairs of eyes staring at him.

He frowned, connecting up the dots in his mind. Suddenly, out of the blue, Magnus had decided to go to Middenheim. Legless and Merideon were going too. There was no way he was going back into the Empire; it was too dangerous. He was an outlaw, a wanted criminal. But if he stayed, it wouldn't be much fun with only the old warlock for company. Sure, the girls would be interesting, and were interesting, but it wouldn't be the same without the lads. Would it?

'You pack of curs,' he spat, generally angry. 'Are we really going to pack up and…'

'Yes. I feel a need to…travel,' Magnus's voice droned. 'It's time to break away from Siareth's will.'

'You have a point there, old one,' Merideon said. 'He seemed to have you on a leash…but now something's different.'

'It is, and I intend to get some freedom, at least for a while.'

'Well okay, okay, I'll come,' Kurt snarled. 'I don't want to be stuck here with Siareth while you fellows are out having all the fun…'

The tall man had a bristling, black beard. He stared out from beneath heavy brows, his blackened teeth fixed in a devilish sneer.

'I can take ye down the Blood River all right. Tis a dangerous waterway, it'll cost you five crowns.'

'Five gold crowns?' Merideon gasped. 'That's preposterous. How about…'

'That's me price, landlubber, you can take it or find your own way down.'

'Then that's what we'll do,' the noble spat. 'We've done it before, we can…'

'No!' Magnus burst out. 'It's too dangerous this time. The Border Princes are full of beastmen and orcs – we must take the quickest route available.'

'Your leader has a point,' the captain leered.

'He's not our leader,' Merideon snapped. 'I am, and I say…'

'Let's put it to the vote, shall we?' Legless was calm as ever. 'I vote river.'

'And I concur,' Kurt spoke up. 'It's about time we set sail!'

Merideon glared at them both. He huffed, clearly annoyed.

'Very well then, we shall hire your…boat.'

'It's a ship, matey. I set sail at dawn tomorrow. Be ready.'

'Oh yes sir,' Merideon said silkily, imitating the sailor's salute as the captain turned and stomped away.

'Enough, boy,' Magnus growled. 'Now that we've secured proper transport, I suggest someone break it to his majesty we're going to Middenheim.'

'His…' Merideon raised an eyebrow.

'Well,' Kurt scoffed, 'that's all he seems to do, sit on his throne and brood, or study spellbooks and the like.'

There was a massive explosion from inside the Councillors' Chambers and the door burst open. Magnus came striding out confidently. His hair and armour were a little singed but he was unharmed.

'He didn't understand why he couldn't send "bolts of power" in my head anymore,' the knight hissed. 'I nearly raised my blade and struck him down right there, but that wouldn't do, would it. I'm no murderer.' Magnus' eyes seemed to shine with a strange light. 'Come, we've an adventure to embark on.'

The Black Otter bounced and bobbed over the water as it slid downstream on the Blood River. Kurt stood on the forecastle with Captain Grubb, breathing in the cool, morning air. It was a long time since he had been aboard such a vessel, and it didn't worry him that this wasn't the finest specimen he had sailed on. It was a relatively small craft, but it was seaworthy and its black sails offered no respect to Sigmar or any other such loathsome deities. Instead, they depicted a vicious looking beast with small fangs and glowing eyes and a narrow, water-slick body. It was the logo of the Black Otter.

'It'll take a couple o' days to get down to Barak Varr,' Grubb sighed. 'But it'll be quicker than on foot or horseback, I can tell ye that.'

'Believe me, I…_we_ are grateful for this,' Kurt replied hastily. 'Ah…did you say Barak Varr?'

'I did, boy, what of it?'

'Well, I, you see, I have a bit of history with that place. If you could, drop me off a league or so before we reach Barak Varr. I'd be much obliged.'

'Done,' Grubb nodded, 'and it won't cost a crown extra.' He squinted at Kurt. 'So, how come ye to this Aldenheim dump?'

'Tis a long story, and not one that I'm keen to tell right now,' Kurt answered. 'But basically I wound up there to escape the clutches of other men.'

'Maybe you should join the crew,' Grubb chuckled. 'You seem to know your way around a ship. I could use a man like you.'

Kurt raised an eyebrow.

'Where are you headed after you drop us off?'

'I'd be making my way downriver, towards the Black Gulf, and a certain treasure cave.'

'Hmmm…look old chap, I'd love to join you but these here fellows,' Kurt indicated his mates who were sitting in various positions around the main deck, with the exceptions of Merideon and Gabrielle, who were below deck, 'are too eager to go to the city of the white wolf. But my thanks anyway for the offer.'

'Here, take this small talisman.' Grubb handed him an animal's tooth. 'It's an otter's fang. It'll give you good luck. And if you're ever in Sartosa, show 'em this and they'll tell you where to come.'

'Well, I appreciate this, mate.' Kurt peered closely at the gift. 'Thanks.'

The Dwarven Sea Fortress was huge. It sat at the meeting points of the Blood, Skull and Howling Rivers, at the top of the Black Gulf. As the Black Otter cruised slowly through its massive sea gates, beneath a giant portcullis of steel and bronze, they felt intimidated by its strong, powerful presence. All around them dwarfs bustled, shouting orders and packing their Nautilus ships full of goods and weapons. Human vessels too, were coming in and out, stocked up with packages to trade and barter.

'Where're Kurt and Legless?' Magnus looked around from his position at the bow.

'Dropped them off a little way back,' Grubb yawned. 'Seems Barak Varr and Kurt have history. As for the elf…he's an elf. Barak Varr is full of Dwarves.'

'Kurt's history,' Merideon sneered. 'I guess they'll skirt around the city and meet us on the South Road.' He leaned against the starboard rail, polishing his rapier. Beside him sat Gabrielle, sunning herself on a large, wooden crate.

The metallic tune of the tin whistle Kurt was playing rang out over the windy moors. It was a military marching tune, short and lively, but very repetitive. Legless rolled his eyes and pulled his hood further down over his head.

'Must you persist with that irritating noise?'

Kurt stopped playing and tucked the whistle away in his pouch.

'What was wrong with it?'

'With this wind the sound will be carried vast distances. Any orcs in the area will be drawn to us like flies to a heap of dung.'

'Are you suggesting I'm…'

'Nothing of the sort, friend.' Legless smiled tactfully.

'Good, good, but you do have a point there about the sound.' Kurt glanced about nervously.

'It won't take us long to reach the South Road. Hopefully the humans are already there, that will save us waiting for them.'

The pair continued riding across the plains. Then, not surprisingly, the outlaw spotted a group of humanoids emerging from a clump of trees. He dismounted.

'Iron Claw Orcs, a whole school of them, dead ahead!'

'We're not onboard ship now, Waldheim,' Legless sneered, glancing at the man. Then he followed Kurt's gaze. Six orcs, armed with a variety of weapons, were gathering, intent of blocking their path. 'Oh, time to have some fun then.'

Kurt's twin blades lashed out as the orc bellowed and slashed at him. There was a bright spark and then the outlaw dodged as the orc threw its weight forward. He twirled his sword and plunged it neatly into the orc's back before it could turn to face him.

'You have met your match.'

Legless spurred his steed forwards. Feeling the wind rushing over him, he tensed, then, just before impact, he leapt into the air. Twisting, he felt the orc's neck break as his boot made contact. He landed, his blade slicing across another orc's torso. The return slash took its face off and then the elf was in the midst of combat, ducking and weaving amongst the stinking orc bodies.

The twin swords span end over end as Kurt sent them flying into the next orc's chest. They bit deep, gouging into the meat either side of the monster's heart. A throwing knife finished the job, flicked dextrously from the outlaw's outstretched hand. He watched Legless cut the legs from under orc and decided to take the last orc for himself. Unsheathing his orcish blade from across his back, he ran forwards and twirled the jagged edged blade, before bringing it down between the orc's shoulder blades. Pulling it out, he brought it around in a deadly arc, taking his foe's head from the shoulders.

'Now that's a killing.'

Legless got up from the legless orc he had just impaled. The elf and the human grasped forearms and locked eyes, sharing a mutual bond. It was a bond of blood.

'The South Road awaits,' Legless said. 'We cross the Howling River and…'

'We can get there faster by taking the East Trail. Just what I was thinking.'

Mounting up, they hurtled away towards the raging waters.

The Howling River looked like an angry snake, twisting and writhing. Its waters were never still, smashing against the rocks on either side and crashing down in huge torrents and deadly rapids. As they searched the banks for the safest ford, Kurt and Legless realised it would be a difficult crossing. The waterway was deep and fast, and anyone falling in would be swept away downstream within moments.

'Here's what we'll do,' Legless said casually. He unlimbered his elf rope and tied it to a nearby tree trunk. When he was satisfied that it was tight enough, he walked to the edge of the river, trailing the rope behind him. Then he took an arrow from his quiver and tied it to the rope, before nocking the arrow and taking aim at another large tree on the far side.

'You cannot be serious,' Kurt stammered. 'I take it we then wade out and get across by holding the rope…'

'Do you have any better ideas?'

Kurt was silent.

It was a difficult crossing.

Legless went first. Kurt followed, wishing there was a bridge of some sort. There probably was, further up where the East Trail met the river. The current was strong, and it tugged at them as if water daemons were pulling them down to a watery grave. Their boots alternatively sank in the mud or slipped on the rocks. It was very cold, and they were exposed. Legless' eyes scanned the tree line. If they were attacked now, they were dead.

'My breeches are soaked,' Kurt complained. 'I guess it's better than being thrown back into prison by a bunch of stunted greybeards.'

'You're an outlaw, Waldheim. I would've thought you'd be used to this by now.'

'Ah, well, the pleasures at Aldenheim seem to have dulled my adventuring skills. And riding about on horseback and in carriages…well, I can see why those fat merchants can't be bothered walking.'

'Humans,' Legless muttered.

As the elf and the man dragged themselves up onto the far bank, dripping and shivering with cold, they prayed that no ambush awaited them. They made camp, and drove burning brands into the ground all around the encampment. The extra warmth would dry their clothes quicker and a number of potential flaming weapons would help them in case of an attack.

As the sun rose in the east, Magnus, Merideon and Gabrielle made ready to ride north. They had spent the night in Barak Varr, stocking up on food, water and equipment, and had made good progress down the Blood River. Normally it would've taken them double the time to reach this point. Magnus dreaded to think where Kurt and Legless had holed up; the Iron Claw Orcs' territory lay east of Barak Varr, exactly where the duo would be travelling through.

'So, now we take the South Road through the Varenka Hills, and then to where the South Road meets the East Trail,' Magnus said confidently. 'This is where we'll meet Kurt and Legless. From there we trek north along the road to Black Fire Pass.'

'Very good,' Merideon said lazily. 'You know, we've been this way before. Not long ago, in fact.'

'But he's explaining for my benefit,' Gabrielle chirped. 'Aren't you, Mags.'

'I am? Of course, my dear sister, I am. It will be a long journey, but you have…_us_ to protect you.'

As they rode, Magnus munched on a strip of tobacco. The wind howled around them from a grey sky, disturbing the long grasses like a current rushing across reeds on the seabed. He glanced across at the white charger. How predictable. Gabrielle and Merideon were having a fine time, he realised. That had better not interfere when it came to fighting.

Suddenly he noticed a cluster of dark figures on the horizon. They stood between two hills, and he could see the sun's rays glinting on weapons. The figures were hunched and brutish, and they had gangly arms.

'Beware! Orcs! Prepare to repel them in the name of Sigmar!'

Merideon glanced up as the chestnut mare galloped off towards the approaching foes, the knight waving his gold sword above his head. He raised an eyebrow. Since when did Magnus pay homage to any god, let alone that god? Dismounting, he unstrapped his pistols and handed them to Gabrielle.

'They're loaded and ready. Aim true.'

The chestnut mare thundered through the orcs like a titan, the raging knight swinging the Blade of Leaping Gold in a vicious arc. The first orc's head jumped visibly from its shoulders, blood spattering Magnus' armour, and the second one was crushed beneath the horse's hooves. Another was smashed aside and then Magnus hauled on the reins, turning his steed. A fourth orc raised its scimitar and charged him, but its reach was much shorter than the knight's. The gold blade flashed and the beast died a bloody death, clutching at its nearly severed neck.

There was the blast of gunfire and another orc's head exploded as Gabrielle pulled the flintlock's trigger. She twirled the pistol and holstered it before pulling out the other and aiming at the last orc closing on Merideon. The beast was corded with muscle, a rusted cleaver gripped in its filthy claws. The noble stood his ground, one hand on his hip, his boots dancing lightly as his blade flicked back and forth.

'Come on, bring it on!'

As the orc rushed into the attack and the rapier speared forwards to strike, the beast's head exploded, showering Merideon with brain matter. He stepped back, disgusted, as the corpse collapsed. He twisted his head towards Gabrielle, naturally irritated.

'That one was mine.'

'Oh, sorry, I seemed to be caught up in the thrill of the moment.'

'Yes…' Merideon sheathed his blade and gave the body a good kick.

A trail of dust rose up behind the two horses as Magnus, Merideon and Gabrielle sped up the South Road. The wind whipped past them, tugging their clothes and hair. Behind them rumbled a massive boar, its tusks capped in iron. On its back sat a huge orc warlord, a gigantic axe grasped in one hand. A bloodthirsty howl tore through the air as the beast revelled in the chase.

'It's only one orc,' Magnus shouted back to Merideon. 'Perhaps we should take it?'

'No its not, you fool,' Gabrielle shouted back, her wide eyes gazing at the nine or ten boar riders emerging from the hills to join their leader. 'It's a boss, and his whole stupid army! Keep going!'

'Damn,' Magnus growled. 'A few orc heads on me belt, a warlord's would've been a good addition.'

'I agree with Gabrielle,' the noble snarled, not turning his head. 'It's not a fight that we can win! Not this time.'

'Well, Kurt and the elf had better be there when we get there,' the knight roared, struggling to be heard above the thunder of hooves and wind. 'We're not stopping!'

The duo flew across the plains like daemons, their own dust trail spreading out behind them like an undulating serpent. Sweat poured off the horses' flanks, and the stink of it was thick in the air, but they cared not. It was more important that they reached the rendezvous point and met their companions. Splitting up was risky enough, they were lucky no more bands of orcs had attacked them.

When they reached the East Trail, they didn't stop but continued westward down the road. The dust saturated the air long after their horses had passed.

Finally they reached the meeting point where the East Trail met the South Road. The Skull River, which flowed alongside the South Road, was forded by a small, wooden bridge, and the tranquil bubbling of its waters created a somewhat serene atmosphere. Exhausted, the horses made to sit down and Legless leapt clear in a single, fluid motion. Kurt was not so agile, but he quickly dismounted and splashed some water over his steed to cool its hide. As he rubbed his horse down, Legless moved to a hillock overlooking the South Road and crouched down.

'Looks like we got here first,' he mused. He glanced at the falling sun. 'They better arrive soon…I'd like to cover more ground before sundown.'

'That would be good,' Kurt agreed. 'It's still another two hundred and fifty miles to Black Fire Pass.'

'Can you feel that?' Legless slitted his eyes.

'Feel what?'

'There's a tremor…' The elf stood, looking south, further down the road.

Far off, a black smear on the horizon appeared. It was moving, fast. In front of it came two horses, one with two riders. As they approached, he realised it was their companions being chased by a warband of enemy riders.

'Legless, what do your elf eyes see?'

'It is our companions. Hurry, get the horses up and ready!' Legless rushed back to his steed and urged it up.

'What is it? What's wrong?' Kurt stood and readied his weapons.

'They are pursued. A score of orcs, mounted on their vile beasts. It is not a fight we can win. We must flee!'

'But…'

'Waldheim, we cannot linger.' Legless was already in the saddle. 'Come!'

'The others…'

'They will catch up, or they will die,' came the cold response. 'Hurry!'

Cursing under his breath, Kurt mounted and followed the elf across the bridge.

In the evening light the army of boars rampaged after their prey. The horses were swift, but weaker. Soon they would tire, if they weren't tired already. Warboss Urgor Redaxe grinned evilly. His boyz would feast well tonight. He hoped. Giving another mighty warcry, he urged his boar onwards.

'We can't hold them off much longer!' Gabrielle was generally frightened. Both Magnus and Merideon started thinking quickly, their minds working overtime. The noble glanced left and right, looking for somewhere to hide. There was nowhere. All around them the plains of the Border Princes spread out; vast and featureless except for the Skull River that rushed southward alongside them.

'This is pointless, we have to turn and fight,' Magnus roared.

'No!' Merideon snarled. 'We fight, we die.'

'Look!' Gabrielle pointed, her other arm clinging tightly to Merideon's waist.

Ahead of them were two dark figures, riding north.

'It's them,' Magnus growled. 'They must've spotted the orcs. Keep up, we need to catch them.'

'What do we do about the orcs?' The noble grimaced.

'No choice. There's nowhere to go except forward. And just pray the horses don't die under us.'

After an age of galloping, Gabrielle's head resting against Merideon's back, they reached the edge of the Forest of Gloom. The stars shone down on huge, black trees with gnarled, aged trunks. Here was Black Spider Forest Goblin territory. Perhaps that would earn the companions a little respite, in one way or another…

Legless came dashing out from between the trees. Kurt was waiting for him.

'Find anything?'

'The goblins are on their way. Let's fly.'

'A cunning plan, friend Legless.'

The elf grinned sinisterly as they mounted their rested horses and rode off.

As the orc warband crashed and tore their way through the fringes of the forest, making as much noise as possible, the Red Wolves fled, considering the option to flee into the forest. But the South Road ran along on the forest's edge. If they struck off from the road they would take much longer to get to Black Fire Pass. Not to mention the risks of getting lost in the forest's twisted heart.

As they passed a dark thicket they heard the shrill war cries of forest goblins riding furry, black spiders as large as a horse. Gabrielle turned her head to watch with a mixture of horror and delight as the orc boar riders promptly smashed their way into the emerging goblins and the fighting began. The angered goblins, confused as to who was intruding in their forest, elves or orcs, responded with fury and the clash of weapons rang out through the night.

Magnus slowed his mare when they were a fair way from the battle. Merideon also tugged on the reins and they all dismounted, eager to rest from their flight. They wouldn't have long, but the horses needed to rest after their exertions.

'Hopefully the orcs don't win too quickly,' Magnus said, his eyes on the battle.

'With their charge expended, the boars will lose their advantage,' Merideon replied. 'I've heard that giant spiders are not to be trifled with. The poison that fills their fangs is deadly indeed.'

'I guess we owe it to Legless and Kurt,' Gabrielle admitted.

'Yes, remind me to thank them when we see them next,' the knight rumbled.

As the sun rose from behind the towering points of the Worlds Edge Mountains, the Red Wolves were finally reunited. Kurt and Legless had made camp at the intersection where the South Road met the Old Dwarf Road, fifty miles from the mouth of Black Fire Pass.

'Took you long enough,' Kurt sneered, nevertheless pleased to see his fellows.

'My thanks are in order for the diversion,' Magnus responded. 'If not for that…'

'It doesn't bear thinking about,' Merideon muttered. 'Let us away, we have a long road ahead of us.

Black Fire Pass. The famous site of Sigmar's great victory against the orc hordes. The colossal mountains stood on either side like giants, watching all who entered. As the Red Wolves made their way cautiously down the valley floor, picking their way forward amongst the fallen rocks and boulders, they could feel that they were almost certainly being watched. It was an uneasy feeling, knowing that an ambush could come at any second. And this could be no ordinary ambush. The valley walls sloped gently at first, clustered with rocks, small trees and shrubs. But after that they soared upwards, hundreds of feet high. Archers positioned in tunnels opening up like windows could send dire volleys of death upon them.

They made camp amidst the giant standing stones three miles from the far end. These stones, which stood in a line across the width of the valley, like silent sentinels, had aided Sigmar's strategy in defeating the greenskins in his battle. Behind them was a taller crest of rock called the Eagle's Nest, which had been used as a watch post.

Using the stones, they would have a little shelter from missiles should they be attacked. Merideon took first watch. It would not be an easy night.

The next day they rode out of the pass and down into the fertile plains of Averland. Before them stretched green lands dotted with hills and small woodlands. The vast fortress-city of Grenzstadt loomed directly upon the road, and even now they could see the walls bristling with soldiers clad in black and yellow livery.

They stopped in Grenzstadt only to restock on supplies, riding on before the day was out. Kurt exchanged his horse, knowing that his old nag would barely last another day's journey. Continuing along the Old Dwarf Road they soon came to Heideck, and here they spent the night, enjoying the hospitality and women the town had to offer. Another day's journey and they would be at Averheim, capital city of Averland.

Home of the late Mad Count of Averland, Marius Leitdorf, Averheim was a bustling city of trade and adventure. Here, in the last province of the Empire before the Black Mountains, all types of men and dwarves gathered, preparing for a variety of colourful and no doubt doom-laden expeditions into the mountains. Some said they were searching for lost relics; others were looking for beasts to kill and trophies to prove their manhood. The Red Wolves had their own tales to share, and a week went past as they spent their time around the wooden tables drinking and talking in the best establishments Averheim had to offer. Kurt had a fine time, gathering up a few crowns and worthless but shiny tokens from gambling with the other patrons, whilst Magnus was keen to hear about what had happened in the Empire these last thousand years. Although this raised a few eyebrows, the knight insisted he had been away in the dwarves' realms for a while and wanted to jog his memory. Free alcohol from Magnus loosened their tongues, he found, and now he had a better insight into the realms of men.

'Time to rise,' Magnus bellowed as he burst into the room and strode over to the windows. Throwing open the heavy curtains, he turned to face an embarrassed Lord Merideon. Gabrielle sank further beneath the sheets.

'What is the meaning of this, you peasant scum?'

'I am no peasant, and you'd better remember that. Have a good night?'

The noble sat up, and glared.

'Yes, not that it's any of your business. Just go downstairs and get the others.'

'Hurry up, we don't have all day.'

They crossed the River Aver and continued north along the Old Dwarf Road. Thankfully the weather was merciful and they made good progress. Stirland bordered on Sylvania, and no one wanted to linger here. They passed through the village of Vigaun, the towns of Wörden, Pötting and Tarshof in the central hills of Stirland, before finally making it to Wurtbad, Stirland's capital. With the plague-induced quarantine recently lifted, they had little trouble securing a boatride down the River Stir to Reikland.

Reikland. Home of the Emperor, His Majesty Karl Franz. The heavily forested lands spread out before the Red Wolves spoke of nobility, and grandeur. It was as if just by residing here the Emperor had made this province somewhat brighter and more heroic than the others. It was the Imperial Crown province. They passed by the town of Kemperbad, then, following the road; they marched through Diesdorf by the edge of the forest and up into Wörlitz. With the Castle Reiksguard on the horizon they decided to stop and rest.

'So, not long till Middenheim, eh?' Magnus roared, banging his tankard down on the table, spilling ale. 'Soon that assassin bastard will be quivering in fear!'

Legless narrowed his eyes. Clearly the knight had had too much to drink.

'It's still a fair way,' Kurt snapped, knocking aside an empty goblet. Merideon and Gabrielle were absent. Upstairs, probably, he thought, enviously. 'Well, due to my contacts we can sail down the River Reik to Altdorf. Then we can take the Altdorf – Middenheim Road to Middenheim. How's that for planning?'

'Very good, Waldheim. You know, you can take that mask off now. No one's going to recognise you here, in this…drunkard's pen.'

'Well said, well said,' Kurt agreed, sliding the mask up from his face.

Altdorf wasn't just the home of the Emperor, it was where he sat; his seat. It was also the capital city of the Empire. Tall, white towers capped with red rooves spread out in an elegant fashion, surrounding a swathe of buildings, plazas and courtyards. But Altdorf also had its slums: huddled together like peasants shivering against the cold. It was not a place where many ventured. The Red Wolves didn't want to spend time in Altdorf; Middenheim awaited and every day they spent travelling meant the assassin was closer to completing his unholy duty.

Ignoring the temptations of the Infamous Street of a Hundred Taverns, the party pressed on, not spending a night in the capital. It was too risky, especially for Kurt. The outlaw insisted on being heavily masked, hooded, cloaked and otherwise disguised. Being caught back in Altdorf was bad enough, but to be merely glimpsed by the house of Waldheim would be a death sentence.

Finally, after many days travel on the Altdorf-Middenheim road, after many weeks journeying through the Empire, the Red Wolves arrived in Middenland. Now they only had to follow the road up to the great rock, the Ulricsberg, upon which reclined the most regal of cities in the Empire: Middenheim, City of the White Wolf.

Kutenholz, Bröckel, Mittelweg, Delberz, Sotturm, Malstedt, Grubentreich and Schoninghagen were but blurs as the determined men rushed through them, perhaps staying a night or two at some towns to get a chance to drink quality alcohol and hear the latest gossip. Many mutated beasts and warriors of darkness stilled lurked in the Drakwald and Great Forests after the conclusion of the Storm of Chaos. The Empire may have won that conflict, but the cost was very high in blood. Tens of thousands had lost their lives, entire families had been wiped out, whole villages razed and populations put to the sword. Some of the towns the Red Wolves passed through were partially or mostly ruined; still being rebuilt and recovering from the horrific assault.

Middenland was in flames.

An assassin with a glowing green blade had slain Valten, "Chosen" of Sigmar, and dire times lay ahead for the realms of Men. Archaon and the hosts of Chaos may have been driven back, but now starvation, poverty, disease, famine and death all set in. Some men even joked that it was barely a victory at all; that perhaps it would've been better if all had been washed away in a tide of blood.

Middenheim may have defended itself from the Everchosen, but still rumours of the ratmen persisted about a strange device being detonated deep in the Ulricsberg. Perhaps that assassin was the same one they were after, perhaps not. Either way all evidence gathered pointed to the fact that it was one of the Skaven.

There was only one way to be sure.

'What business do you have in Ulric's city?' The guard captain was clad in the blue and white uniform of Middenheim. He barred the way with a heavy-headed halberd. A longsword hung at his side. His face was grim, as were the times.

'We are here to take care of an assassin,' Magnus rumbled. 'Stand aside.'

'Are you indeed? Who sent you?'

'No one sent us, we just heard about…'

'And you think you can waltz in here and catch an assassin that's been terrorising the city for months?'

'The least we can do is try, captain,' the knight said bluntly.

'We may be outlanders, empire man,' Merideon spat. 'But our reasons are honest.'

'I will second that, human.' Legless said firmly, lowering his hood. 'I am Legless, of the High Elves. I come from Ulthuan as an ambassador. Let us pass immediately.'

The guard captain's eyebrows rose, and he swallowed.

'My apologies my lord, your presence here is an honour.'

The guard captain stepped aside and the four men and the woman began riding up the South Causeway into Middenheim.

Whilst out searching for a particular alehouse, minus Merideon and Gabrielle, who had taken a room at the Blazing Hearth Inn in the Altmarket-Altquartier, Magnus, Kurt and Legless stopped by the Broken Knife Tavern. The wooden sign above the door showed a broken knife, depicted against a red field.

'Ah, the Broken Knife,' Magnus sighed. 'Come, at last we can drink to our hearts desires!'

'I think you'll find my heart's desire does not involve drinking,' Legless spat, clearly annoyed. 'It's taken far too long to get here.'

'I agree that it did take an awful long time on horseback,' Kurt admitted. 'Still, perhaps this new side of Magnus' character will lead us to great treasures!'

As they entered, they were greeted by the cheerful sounds of a minstrel band playing, with drums, fiddles, tambourines and a flute. The performers were clad in a variety of gaudy costumes with bells attached to their clothes and they were obviously enjoying themselves immensely. The patrons were also in good spirits, laughing and talking animatedly in equal measure. A roaring fire positioned in one corner of the common room gave off a considerable heat. Highly attractive barmaids wandered between the tables. At the bar a jolly fellow with a wide smile sat polishing glasses and making casual banter. The very air itself was filled with warmth. Compared to the stinking, rowdy, glass-breaking atmosphere of the Black Prince, this was very different indeed.

Kurt wasn't sure he liked it. There was no brawling going on, no bottles being thrown across the room, and almost no spilt beer on the floor. But they settled in soon enough, appreciating the alcohol after so long a journey. They had travelled hundreds of miles across the Border Princes and the Empire to get here. There had better be some loot involved, the outlaw thought. Or it might not be worth it.

Before long they found themselves sharing tales of their adventures with the friendly locals. The assassin had struck again, apparently. He, or it, was known to be in the area and was very dangerous. The assassin was reputed to be able to blend with the shadows so well it was nigh invisible and its attacks were always accompanied by a strange, black poison that was left in the victim's corpse. This was almost certainly a Skaven. There was little room for doubt.

It was getting late, and the Red Wolves were just beginning to think about turning in for the night when there was a disturbance behind the bar.

'Come quick!' There was a distressed cry. 'The landlord's been murdered!'

'What!' Magnus roared. 'And I thought this place was…'

'Enough,' Kurt snapped. 'At last, we get to kill something.' In a flash his blades were out and he vaulted over the counter, knocking aside an empty tankard. Legless followed like a hunting cat, lithe and silent.

'Bloody oath,' Magnus grumbled, getting to his feet. 'I'm old and tired.' Nevertheless he stepped down into the cellar to find a horrific sight. The landlord's body lay face down on the floor, several dagger wounds in his back. Clawed footprints made in spilled ale led to a small, near concealed entrance behind a partially ruined barrel.

'They lead down into the tunnels below the city,' a man said from the doorway. 'Please, you must go after it! Kill it, and make sure it doesn't return to the surface!'

'We will do what we can,' the knight growled. 'This calls for justice!'

'You mean vengeance,' Kurt snarled, launching himself into the tunnel.

The tunnel was dimly lit by wall sconces and the companions' breathing was practically the only sound they could hear. The air stank of wet fur, and filth. The passages were narrow, and they had to walk in single file. Then, two chambers in, they found the assassin. It had its back turned to them, its black cloak stirring slightly so they could see it. It was hunched over a large, wooden trunk. The telltale stench of the ratmen hung heavily in the air. Legless raised his bow.

'Die, Skaven refuse!'

Before the arrow could strike, the assassin dodged and turned to face them. It's hood fell back to reveal the horror beneath: beady red eyes and chisel-like fangs. In its hands it held a pair of gleaming daggers.

'Die-die!' With a blur of motion, the rat beast leapt upon the elf.

Elf and Skaven began a dance of blades. It was beautiful to behold, steel flashing and sparks igniting. Magnus and Kurt had their swords ready, but were unable to strike the assassin without fear of hitting Legless instead. It was up to Legless to end the duel. Moments passed as the pair watched. They could but stand by while their fellow fought viciously, blades slicing through the air faster than the eye could follow. This was a battle between inhuman forces, forces that were older and more powerful than those of youngling mankind. The speed and agility were incredible. Many times one or the other would strike a deathblow only for his opponent to dodge aside and continue the contest.

'Finish him,' Kurt shouted, waving his sword. He was so intent on the fight he hadn't noticed Magnus investigating the chest. With a gasp of pain, the knight drew back his hand, blood running from a minor cut. Slamming the chest back with his boot, he motioned to the outlaw.

'See if you can open this damned thing.'

'Willingly,' Kurt said smoothly. He spent a moment studying the mechanism. Then, with practised ease, he pulled out his tools and inserted a length of wire. Twisting and turning, he grinned in satisfaction as the lock snapped open. 'Mine.' He flicked open the chest and swept up the dozen gold crowns inside.

There was a hiss as an arrow sped through the air, followed by a thunk as it bit into the assassin's throat. The foul vermin hit the floor and a small vial rolled away across the flagstones. In a trice the elf had picked it up and examined it closely.

'It looks like a vial of toxin. The like of which one would use to poison a well.'

'Then we are heroes,' Kurt spat, disgusted. 'We've saved their water supplies!'

'Can't be helped,' Magnus sighed. He kicked the corpse. 'Vile beast.'

When a brief search of the dusty room revealed nothing more to plunder, the Red Wolves returned to the Broken Knife.

'Well done, champions,' the Captain of the Middenheim Militia said briskly. 'You have my, and indeed, Middenheim's greatest appreciation for this deed of valour.'

Magnus held his head high. Beside him Legless bowed his head in respect. Although Merideon and Gabrielle stood alongside them, slightly miffed at missing all the combat action, there was no sign of Kurt Waldheim.

'Congratulations,' the captain continued, 'on behalf of the Count Boris Toddbringer, I award you with this purse of gold.' He motioned for Merideon to step forth. As the leader of the Red Wolves, the noble bowed with a flourish and tucked the purse away swiftly.

'It was an honour to serve,' he said smugly. 'If there is anything else we can do…'

The captain raised an eyebrow, even though he had lost that eye. He tugged his black goatee beard.

'Well, there is one thing…'

'So now, instead of enjoying the pleasures of the city, instead of having at least a week's respite, we're returning to the Ulricsberg, to hunt down SKAVEN?' Kurt was pissed off.

The Red Wolves had gathered on the East Wall, overlooking the partially ruined causeway. The rising sun beamed at them, a golden disc reminding them of their inner desires. Magnus looked grim yet firm, and Legless was emotionless as ever.

Gabrielle was clinging to Merideon's waist, looking like some angel in the light.

'What do you expect, Waldheim?' Merideon was grinning. He struck a heroic pose, the wind ruffling his hair and his cloak billowing out behind him.

'We are the Red Wolves. Forget Siareth, we are heroes; this is what we do.'

14


	4. Chapter 3: Rat Hunt

_Fellblade_

III

Rat Hunt

'So, instead of leading us into this next adventure, like the would-be "hero" that he is,' Kurt spat, 'he pulls out at the last minute and says he's doing things with Gabrielle?' The outlaw's facial expression was one of complete disgust. 'It's bad enough that Magnus is unable to accompany us because of his head. But Merideon…he's clearly smitten.'

'That is humans for you,' Legless murmured, equally dismayed. 'No real commitment when their women are involved.'

The Wild Wolf Tavern crouched between the smoky furnaces of the Black Wolf Hammersmiths and the renovated ruins of the Merchants' Guild. Visited regularly by the city's outlandish, independent adventurer population, it had recently been overwhelmed by a steady stream of freeblades, mercenaries and treasure hunters. Ever since the fall of Krudenwald, a place that had served as home to many footloose, young rogues as well as dwarf Trollslayers and the occasional Questing Knight, Middenheim had become the prime settlement for explorers and enterprise. Rumour had already spread of the infestation beneath the city, and many were eager to travel deep into the heart of the Ulricsberg in search lost treasure, glory, and the standing bounty on Skaven heads.

The Wild Wolf was a control centre for mercenary companies in Middenheim. Its reputation was fast growing for the best place in the city to recruit bodyguards, caravan escorts, bounty hunters, soldiers for hire and even assassins. Overflowing with gold-hungry mercenaries, even the grim, rough bouncers were ex-sellswords: the remnants of the landlord's old mercenary company. Regular troops generally avoided the Wild Wolf – this was where men fought for money, not some fool's perceptions of honour or personal power. Here men valued cold steel and the glint of gold over such things as the favour of the gods.

The walls of the Wild Wolf were worn and stained by years of ale. The paint had long since peeled off and hadn't been replaced; leaving a cold, stone look that suited the sellswords who cared nothing for décor. A roaring fireplace dominated the common room, and two spectacular, crossed swords were fixed above the mantelpiece, each one's hilt finely engraved with running wolves.

Legless was casually sipping his glass of wine when the door slammed open and a brawny figure strode through the entrance. He was clearly a dwarf, with massive, muscled arms covered in tattoos and an impressively plaited beard. In one hand he carried a double-headed axe, its blades decorated with angular runes. But the most prominent feature of the newcomer was his mohawk: a stiff, orange-dyed affair that stood at least a foot above his head.

'Beer!' The slayer roared, shouldering his way through the crowded room. Shoving Legless aside and nearly knocking the elf from his stool, he leaned his axe against the bar and banged his fist down viciously. 'Did you hear me, man! Beer!' He tossed the landlord a gold piece as the tankard was filled. 'And keep 'em coming till that's used up!'

Downing his drink in a single swing, the trollslayer found Legless staring at him with distaste.

'You got a problem, elf?' The dwarf's gaze was a flinty one. 'What's an elf doing in Middenheim anyway? Isn't it a bit "rough" in here for your kind?'

'Watch yourself, dwarf,' Legless snarled. 'You are addressing none other than Lord Legless of the Asur.'

'Am I indeed,' the slayer scoffed. He belched, loudly. 'Well, Skurdi Kilgdar is no elf friend.' He turned away and picked up his next tankard.

'Typical dwarf scum,' Legless muttered, shifting away from Skurdi. He was about to ask Kurt if he'd like to move to a table when he was grasped roughly by a beefy arm and hurled forwards. Other patrons stepped back, expecting a brawl.

'My hearing isn't that bad, elf swine,' Skurdi bellowed, beer sloshing from his tankard as he slammed it down. Getting up, he approached Legless and the crowd parted, forming a rough semi-circle around the elf and the dwarf.

'I want no trouble with you, Kilgdar.'

'Bit late for excuses, No Legs or whatever your pansy name is.'

'Enough!' The landlord shouted angrily. 'I want no brawling here! Take it outside!' He motioned to the bouncers.

Skurdi eyed them up and down, as if considering whether or not it was worth starting with them. Then, thinking better of it, he sat back down.

'I haven't finished me beer yet, elf. You'll have to wait.'

'The only thing you'll get from me is a glorious death in battle,' Legless spat, pushing his way through the crowd towards the door. 'Come, Waldheim, we've a dragon to kill!'

Skurdi nearly choked on his third beer. Spluttering, he seized up his axe and rushed after the retreating adventurers.

'Wait! Wait, did you say something about a dragon?'

The Red Wolves were trudging through a low-ceilinged tunnel that had connected with a wine cellar beneath one of Middenheim's less reputable taverns. They had already encountered a host of giant rats, pouring from disused ale barrels and in doing so had revealed the location of the secret door. The rats had been bloated and mutated individuals, certainly creations of the skaven menace. A dozen or so rat heads hung from Kurt's belt. The bounty would be grand: one gold piece for each skaven head returned.

'So where's this dragon you spoke of?' The slayer was impatient. He rubbed his thumb along the edge of his gleaming axe, drawing forth a bright bead of blood.

'Foolish dwarf,' Legless chuckled. 'The dragon isn't _literally_ a fire-breathing beast.'

'**WHAT**?'

'I was metaphorically speaking. But of course, you stunted folk only talk in actions involving drinking and fighting.'

'Listen here, no legs, if I didn't need you lot to record me glorious death, I'd…'

'Shhh!' Kurt snapped from up ahead. 'The lair of a great beast lies up ahead.'

'A beast?' Skurdi shoved the elf aside roughly. 'Time to die, rat-beasts!'

Before Kurt or Legless could do anything, the trollslayer charged through the narrow opening into the cavern beyond.

The ear-splitting roar shook the walls as the rat ogre's left leg was cut from its body, like a tree being hewed down by a woodcutter. Skurdi grinned, his blood-slick axe glinting menacingly. As an arrow thudded into the beast's back, he raised the weapon again and chopped downwards, severing the neck with a gory splatter of blood.

'That one counts as mine,' he growled.

Kurt's swords slashed at the massive bulk of the creature before him. He dodged a huge paw as it swiped at him but the monster's other fist grabbed one of his blades. Black blood ran down from between its monstrous fingers, and then there was a loud crack as the sword broke.

'Take this, rat bastard,' the outlaw shouted, throwing his other blade. It span, end over end until it came to rest in the rat ogre's skull, the end jutting bloodily from the other side. Grimacing, Kurt unsheathed his orcish blade. 'This sword will serve me now. It'll cut the head better anyway.' He knelt down to his grisly task.

'Primed and loaded.' Kurt aimed with both his flintlocks at the advancing patrol of Skaven soldiers. Clad in pieces of scrap metal armour, their fur was black as night. These were no ordinary ratmen. These were Stormvermin.

'Are you going to shoot or not?' Skurdi was itching to get into the fight.

'He's waiting for them to get into range, oaf,' Legless sneered.

'Out of the way, I'm going in!' The slayer shoved the elf bodily aside.

Before Skurdi could charge forwards, Kurt fired. Two blasts echoed around the corridor, black smoke issuing from his pistols. The two front skaven were pitched backwards as the metal balls punched through their weak bodies. Two arrows followed the devastation, taking another two Stormvermin in the throats.

'Leave the rest to me,' the slayer snarled, 'and I mean it!'

As Skurdi held off the increasing number of Stormvermin, hewing all around him with his axe, black blood splashing his torso and running in the cracks between the flagstones, Legless scouted ahead. Feeling that this was where his own skills lay, he narrowed his eyes as he strode down the corridor. Two pit traps lay across the passage, blocking the way. Without a second glance the elf crossed in a single bound and booted open the large door on the other side, flourishing his longsword. Instantly dozens of glinting red eyes blinked into existence in the darkness. He could hear the scrape of metal as weapons were drawn and the telltale snicker of skaven laughter. The stench of unwashed fur was overpowering.

'Why am I not surprised?' With an Asur warcry, he bounded across the room and up onto a wooden table at its centre. The Stormvermin guards closed around him, anticipating a quick kill.

Kurt heard the clash of halberds and the deathcries of rats up ahead. Rushing down the corridor, the lantern swinging from his left fist, he didn't see the pits until it was too late. Giving a startled cry, he stumbled and fell headfirst into the hole.

'Bloody Skaven bastards!'

It didn't take long for him to climb out, but boy was he pissed off. He should've realised there'd be Skaven death traps everywhere, especially in this warren.

Skurdi hacked and chopped Stormvermin bodies. He stood in the doorway, blocking their way forward and using their numbers against them. Here only two could come at him at any time, the rest crushing against their fellows in the narrow passage behind. The walls were painted blacker than they already were as skaven lifeblood drenched it in great swathes of sticky foulness. Heads rolled upon the floor and bones were crushed underfoot. Skurdi knew his death would not be here.

These were no real challenge.

Dodging numerous fierce jabs and slashes from the cutting blades of the Stormvermin halberds, Legless grinned, slicing another's halberd in two and kicking the wielder's head back. He heard the satisfying crack as its brittle neck snapped and took the opportunity to slam his boot into its chest, throwing it back. As soon as the gap had opened, another rat warrior stepped forward to fill the fence of vile stench. He was surrounded on all sides, but he didn't care. These vermin were nothing to him. They were less than scum; they didn't stand a chance.

Smiling mysteriously, the elf somersaulted over the claw leader's head, twisting in mid air and landing to face the beast as it span around.

'Be de-sexed, rat filth!'

A swift kick to the Stormvermin's nether regions demolished the claw leader's privates and a rapid blow to the neck severed it in a spray of bloody gore. With their leader dead, a shrill cry filled the air and the rest of the skaven turned to flee.

With Legless standing near the far doorway, they scuttled like vermin towards the first door only to find a grimacing human and a vicious-looking dwarf blocking their retreat.

'Time to die, sewer scum!' Kurt roared. He raised his dark blade and launched himself into his foes. The sword drank deeply, glistening with ratman blood as it sliced and hacked its way through the Stormvermin ranks. Skurdi also began a new butchery with gusto, smashing a bloody path towards the elf, each wide swipe of his axe leaving another rat a broken ruin.

The walls and ceiling of the room were spattered with blood.

It was a slaughter.

'About time, dwarf.'

'Speak for yourself, no legs. While you were lap dancing I was doing all the work.'

'Really?' Legless raised an eyebrow. 'At least I could move fast enough to avoid a dishonourable death at the hands of those scum.'

'Watch it or you might find a dishonourable death in the next chamber.'

'Brave words, slayer. Perhaps if you were more fighter and less talker…'

'Enough!' Kurt snarled. 'Legless, scout ahead. Skurdi, you're with me.'

'Very good, Waldheim. I see you're warming to this leadership role.'

The outlaw gave Legless a dirty look as the elf disappeared through the doorway.

'Well, man?' Skurdi motioned with his axe. 'Glad that you're here, otherwise I and that elf person might've killed each other hours ago.'

'Well, isn't that a good thing.' Kurt rolled his eyes and started gathering heads.

The corridor beyond was a death trap. No sooner had Legless stepped onto the first flagstone a spear came hurtling from a gap in the wall. He rolled beneath it onto the next stone, only for another spear to come flying out. Dodging that one, he leapt and dodged, ducking and weaving down the passage. A host of spears were released, one for each flagstone he crossed.

'Balls of Khaine,' he swore as one of the spears grazed his cloak. Luckily though, he emerged unscathed and reached the far archway. The spears stopped.

Kurt and Skurdi were about to enter but Legless held out his hand.

'Stop! There are spear traps…you'll have to…'

'Bah!' Skurdi grunted. He turned around and trudged back into the guard chamber. When he returned he was carrying a rusty halberd. He then proceeded to walk into the corridor, setting the traps off as he went. Each spear flew out in front of him, allowing him to pass each one unharmed.

Kurt was not so lucky. He gasped in pain as a spear slashed past him, opening a shallow cut in his arm. Although the blood ran freely, he gritted his teeth and ran. A hail of spears burst from the wall, falling to clatter against the flagstones behind him.

The cavern stretched out around the trio. Ahead crouched a giant, stone dais, atop of which stood a hideous idol. In front of this effigy was a hunched, hairy figure, flanked by two Stormvermin and a strange, arcane device. It was manned by two skulking ratmen. An evil sniggering filled the air as the warlord gestured with his halberd.

'Man-things! Kill-kill!'

Once again the darkness was lit up by many pairs of red eyes, glinting like tiny lights. Kurt's lantern illuminated the Clanrat warriors, their chisel-like fangs jutting from their jaws and their clawed fists grasping jagged knives and rounded shields. On the sides of the chamber, more skaven poured in through small doorways.

'Right, Skurdi! This is your demise!' The elf grinned, nocking an arrow to his bow.

'You've got to be kidding, no legs. Be cleansed, vermin!'

There was no stopping the trollslayer as he hacked his way into the skaven. Heads were tossed left and right as Skurdi Kilgdar went to work. Suitably impressed, Kurt drew his Bloodletting Sword and joined in. The Clanrat warriors were no match for the man and the dwarf, and soon the floor was slippery with black blood. Arrow after arrow sped through the dank air, pin cushioning the warlord. But the beast didn't fall, and ordered the Warpfire thrower to engage. Kurt and Skurdi were oblivious as the deadly war machine turned its wide muzzle in their direction.

'Shoot-kill! Man-dwarf things die-die!'

There was an almighty explosion as a massive blast tore through the chamber. The skaven manning the Warpfire machine were incinerated, as were the warlord's bodyguards and the remaining Clanrats in a torrent of burning Warpfire and ash. Kurt and Skurdi were hurled to the floor as they were struck by the horrid liquid. Fortunately the vile fluid burned itself out and, slicking back his hair, Kurt pulled out his flintlocks. Taking aim, he pulled the triggers and fired. The balls slammed into the warlord's body, which went up in flames as Skurdi's magic ring of lightning fire engulfed him. His shrill deathcries were quickly silenced.

'Nice axe,' Skurdi rumbled, polishing the dust from the shining, double-headed blade of the axe he had found. 'It's well forged, the runes are sharp.'

'Finally I find a sword worth keeping,' Legless murmured. He turned the elven-forged blade in his hands. 'Here, Waldheim, you can have this.' He tossed a small, amber-coloured amulet on a leather thong to the outlaw.

'Shiny,' Kurt breathed, rubbing the treasure. He would add it to his collection. 'I'll wager Magnus and Merideon would've liked this quest. One gold piece for every Skaven head…'

The man, the elf and the dwarf hefted their bundles of grisly trophies and began the climb to the surface.

5


	5. Chapter 4: Pool of Dreams

_Fellblade_

IV

Pool of Dreams

Morgan set his tankard down on the bar and rubbed his forehead. The pains were sporadic, coming and going. It was a small price to pay for immortality, but damn, it was annoying. He looked up as a poorly dressed man approached him, somewhat fearfully. Realising his sword was leaning up against the bar; the knight rolled his eyes and waved at the man.

'Sit down, old one, what do you want?'

The greybeard glanced momentarily at a notice pinned to the wall near the door.

'Are…are you the leader of the Red Wolves?'

'Hah, I'm not surprised you thought I was the leader. I'm pretty tough-looking, aren't I?' He grinned. When the man didn't respond, he rolled his eyes again.

'I'm a member, but I don't lead us. You want to talk with Merideon. Him, over there.' Morgan pointed casually at the noble at a nearby table. Merideon was laughing heartily, Gabrielle at his side. An empty wine glass stood on the table in front of him.

'Ah. Thank you.'

'Don't mention it.' Morgan turned back to his drink. Bloody greybeards.

Legless, Kurt and Merideon were having a thoroughly enjoyable evening. The drink was flowing, the air was warm and they'd just been handed a reasonable bounty for the rat-man heads.

'Where's Skurdi, then?' Merideon looked about jovially.

'I think he had too much to drink!' Legless scoffed, producing a burst of laughter all round the table. 'Those dwarves, huh?'

'Talking about drink,' Kurt said, 'you! Bring us another tray of beers, eh?' Kurt settled back in his chair, nursing his tankard. 'So, what's with the old man for a pet, eh? This some sort of new fashion?'

'What old man?' Merideon asked, before seeing the old man trying hard not to be noticed but at the same time trying to get a word in. Gabrielle shifted along. 'Oh, you there, peasant, what's the problem? Need someone to buy you a drink?' This was followed by another round of mirth. For a moment the old man's eyes hardened. Then he spoke.

'A sorcerer, one no doubt from the recent chaos invasion, has made his lair beneath my village of Bokel. Who will save us from his threats and daemon-summoning?'

There was silence.

'Well that wasn't very funny,' Kurt spluttered, 'what's wrong with you, greybeard?'

'This is no joke, young fool,' the old man snapped. 'I saw your notice, you are mercenaries, yes?'

'Apparently,' Legless cut in before anyone else could speak. He narrowed his eyes at Merideon.

'Of course we are, of course we are,' Merideon said softly, 'we kill things for shiny gold crowns. What is it you want us to kill?'

'The sorcerer beneath my village, you dolt!'

'Are you calling me a dolt?' The noble's jaw tightened. Gabrielle placed a gentle hand on his chest, but he brushed it aside and stood, towering over the old man.

'Merideon, this is not the time for your easily offendable character traits,' Legless hissed. 'We could get something out of this human.'

'Like what? What do you have to offer us, if we do this, greybeard?'

'We are just a humble village, good sir,' the man replied, backing off a little. 'We are helpless to prevent the sorcerer summoning his filthy…'

'Yes, all right, all right,' Merideon snarled. 'They must have something we can get off them later,' he added conspiratorially to the others.

The catacombs of Bokel were narrow, and dank. The air smelled of rotting vegetables, and water dripped down the slimy walls. It was foul.

'Did we really have to come here?' The elf wrinkled his nose in disgust.

'It's just some sorcerer who needs his backside whipping,' Merideon responded.

As the party crept stealthily down the darkened passageways, they came to a set of richly furnished double doors. The edges had been decorated in brass and gold, leering skulls and double-headed axes. The décor was new, and had been added recently.

'Anyone like to guess what sort of thugs the sorcerer keeps in there?' Morgan said sarcastically. 'Any fool can recognise the tools of the Blood God's minions.'

The knight promptly raised the Soul Edge.

'Prepare to defend your souls!' He sliced downwards, hacking a huge gash in the wood. A further blow from his boot smashed the doors inwards. 'Charge!' Morgan rushed into the chamber. Immediately the hot stench of blood filled the air. Nothing was intact in the room; long since destroyed by its hellish inhabitants. The walls themselves were scoured by huge gouge marks and scratches; evidence that the daemons did not approve of their temporary captivity.

They stood a foot taller than the humans, their skin blood red and awash with the slickness of one who has just bathed in another's life essences. They stamped the ground with brass hooves, and horns of the same substance crowned their infernal brows. In their clawed hands they gripped axes that gleamed with a malevolent light: hellblades. And their eyes glowed with white hellfire.

With an inhuman, bestial roar, one of the daemons raised its weapon to meet the attacking knight. A burst of sparks ignited as Soul Edge clashed with its cousin. Then the hellblade slammed into Morgan's side, throwing him across the room. The Bloodletter shrieked with hellish vigour, a sound that hurt the mens' ears. The second daemon thundered into the attack, and soon the party was engaged in a desperate fight for their lives. Blood stained the floor, the clash of steel was deafening and the daemons' iron hides turned many blows. The hellblades very nearly finished the Red Wolves, their owners striking again and again with furious passion. War cry after war cry ripped from fanged mouths and the sheer terror exuded by the daemonic minions of the Blood God shook them all. Never before had they had such a difficult battle, and all of them feared that this would be their last.

Merideon ducked a swing that would've taken his head off. He rolled aside and pulled the trigger on his pistol. The blast tore a hole in the daemon's side, and it snarled viciously, raising its axe for the fatal blow. Then an arrow impaled its neck, flying straight through and plunging into the wall behind. A stream of ichor vomited bloodily from the creature. There was a swirl of daemonic energy and a bestial howl. Merideon's cape whipped up as if in a breeze and then there was gory splatter of blood as the beast imploded. He wiped sticky blood from his face with the back of his glove. Nearby the other daemon bellowed as its neck was severed and it followed the departure of its companion in a typical display of bloody gore.

There was a moment of silence, broken only by heavy breathing as the Red Wolves came to terms with the horrors they had just vanquished.

'I believe the human term is…lucky.' Legless shouldered his bow.

'Very,' Morgan agreed. 'By all rights, we should not have survived such an encounter.'

All of them were wounded. As they spent the next hour or so recovering, they hoped that the fight with the sorcerer would not mean battling more Bloodletters. If it did, it could mean certain death and an eternity of slaughter for their souls.

The next room's entrance was bordered by seductive, naked nymphs. Strange, twisting runes were etched into the panels, lit softly by a pair of purple candles. Morgan, automatically opening his mouth before he could stop himself, revealed his thoughts.

'Slaanesh, the god of pleasure. This room will contain Daemonettes, then after that it will be either horrors of Tzeentch or Plaguebearers of Nurgle. This is a pattern.'

'How do you know so much, Magnus?' Legless was suspicious.

'Uh…' Morgan knew he had been caught out. 'My father had an extensive library.'

'Interesting library,' Kurt spat. 'Trafficking with slightly dubious parties?'

'Like you can talk, Waldheim.'

'Enough!' Merideon shushed his companions. 'We enter, we kill the peasants, then we continue on.'

'It will not be that easy,' Morgan began, but the noble had already opened the door and strode through into the chamber.

It was a garden. The walls were covered in delicate vines and creepers, flowers of utmost beauty decorating their sinewy lengths. The flowers were pink, purple and yellow, contrasting with the deep, fleshy tones of the floor. Flagstones that looked disturbingly like bare skin ran from wall to wall, and beautiful statues of scantily clad maidens stood in each corner. There were luxurious sofas and armchairs arranged against the walls and a stand with an exquisite musical instrument.

Lounging decently were the Daemonettes. They were pale-skinned and slender, their bodies painted with swirling symbols and their eyes glowing with lust. Of course, their appearance wasn't all pleasing to the eye. Their arms ended in monstrous lobster claws and their feet were elongated and tipped with razor talons. In a trice the daemons were stalking towards them.

For a moment the comrades paused, awed at the sight of the seductive creatures. A strange aura of magnificence wafted through the air. Then an arrow flew past the gaping men and struck the closest Daemonette in the shoulder.

'Cease your childish staring, and engage them!'

Merideon shook his senses free from the illusion of beauty and slashed outwards at the Daemonettes. His rapier cut a criss-cross of bloody lines across the flesh of his opponent. A massive claw nearly caught his neck and he jumped back out of the way, blade flicking out. The claw fell to the floor, neatly severed with a spray of ichor.

Nearby Morgan's gold sword twirled in deadly arcs. His blade hacked and chopped, a machine of destruction as he carved his way through the enemy. The daemons' attacks scraped off his armour and he sliced the legs out from beneath one, then reversed the blow upwards to cut the hellish maiden in half. Ichor spattered his armour.

Kurt's mind reeled. The constant echoing promises of eternal pleasure reverberated around his head, ringing like tiny bells in a light breeze. He hesitated, sword in hand as the Daemonette strode towards him, its hips swinging. He struggled to maintain control of his body as his foe passed him and laid its arms around his neck. Slowly, he dropped to his knees, the daemon massaging him with something warm and wet. A sigh of contentedness escaped from his lips, even as his friends battled against their own daemons. His gaze fell to the side. Suddenly, he caught sight of what was massaging him. It was the daemon's tongue.

With a start, he broke free from the daemon's embrace and turned to face his adversary.

'Vile temptress!' The daemon's expression turned dark and with a shrill scream of rage it leapt at him. He side-stepped its attack and promptly plunged the orcish sword into its side. Pulling it free, he circled the daemon as ichor fountained from its gaping wound. Before the daemon could close with him, he pulled out his pistol and fired. The Daemonette's head exploded in a shower of ichor.

It was Legless again that ended the battle with a well-placed blow of his elven greatsword. As he tried to collect used arrows he found that they vanished along with the bodies of the fallen. Cursing richly in Eltharin, he made a mental note to use his greatsword rather than lose precious ammunition.

'Look,' Kurt said, holding up three bottles of a reddish liquid. He had found a drawer in one the base of one of the sofas. 'Healing potions. At least there's something of worth in this god-forsaken place.'

The next daemons they encountered were the terrifying Fiends of Slaanesh, rather than Tzeentchian monsters as Morgan had postulated. The many-limbed beasts lashed out with pincer-claws and talon-like hooves, their luminous, green eyes flashing.

'Get in close, then they can't use their pincers!' Morgan roared, deflecting a barbed scorpion tail with a flick of his golden sword. He rolled aside as the pincers went to cleave him in half. Struggling to his feet, he hacked down viciously as the thing turned its centaurine body to face him. He was enveloped in a spray of ichor as his sword smashed its way through the scales and into the daemon's body.

The other Fiend faced Legless while Kurt and Merideon stayed back, half glad that it wasn't their fight, half exasperated that the elf was taking all the glory. Once within the arc of the massive pincers, Legless easily penetrate the creature's defences and slew it with an upwards thrust to the head. Dodging its lashing tongue, he cut it off and leapt away as the beast's tail stabbed downwards in a last effort to sting the elf warrior.

Then there were the Flamers, inverted mushroom beings with avian heads and arms that spouted incinerating jets of multi-hued flame.

'What are these devils?' Kurt breathed, goggling at the evil beasts of the god of Sorcery. As the daemons bounced irritatingly around the cave in which they had been imprisoned, the outlaw followed the elf's example and back peddled from the doorway. Merideon and Morgan stumbled into him from behind.

'Back, get back!' He shouted before an incandescent wave of flame spewed from the chamber.

'We're safe on this side of the doorway,' Legless mused. 'All the rooms so far, the daemons were contained by some dire spell. Cross the threshold and they can attack.'

'Then we use missile fire,' Kurt snarled. He pulled out his flintlocks. Merideon also took up his pistol. Legless nodded and the three of them stood side by side.

'Open fire!' The noble roared and the blasts of gunfire filled the air. Struck down by arrow and shot, the daemons melted into a pool of yellowish-orange ichor.

In an arcane room with a circle inscribed upon the floor, they discovered the Horrors of Tzeentch. Like nothing they have ever seen before, the daemons' hides were constantly shifting and changing with a thousand faces, all of them screaming with horror and woe. Books lined the shelves and eerily lit candles that burned with rainbow flames cast eerie light upon the walls.

'The devilry of the master changer,' Legless told the others. 'They will most likely try to blast us with magic first, then when that fails they'll engage us. We must take down these creatures quickly.'

Legless' theory proved to be correct. The infernal, pink creatures cast fiery spells upon the companions, but the rune of Spelleating upon Legless's shield glowed bright and dissipated the magic. Furious, the daemons launched themselves across the floor to attack but were quickly cut down by the defiant warriors. These were truly horrifying creatures born of the corrupting power of Chaos, but after surviving the attack of the Bloodletters it seemed that nothing could stop the comrades carving a bloody path through the daemons. When the Pink Horrors split in two and the Blue Horrors took their place, Legless whirled amongst them with practiced ease. In a short period their steaming corpses had dematerialised, back to the Realm of Chaos.

Legless held up a hand. They were outside the next portal, a diseased affair that stank of decaying wood, pestilence and maggot-filth.

'Behind this door will be the daemons of the plague god.' He rummaged in his pack until he found a vial of lamp oil. 'This should deal with the Plaguebearers.' He grinned knowingly.

'Lamp oil?' Merideon was baffled. 'And how, exactly, is that going to help us?'

'Watch and learn. Magnus, would you do the honours?'

The knight nodded. Kicking the rotting, wooden doors open, he knocked one off its rusting hinges. The elf smiled as he saw the daemons. They were like walking corpses that had been rotting forever and yet never fully decomposing. Their bodies were slick with slime and crawling maggots. A single horn erupted from the cyclopean monsters' heads. With a deft motion, the elf hurled the lamp oil at the nearest daemon.

There was a tinkle as the glass shattered over the daemon's head. Legless pulled out an arrow from his quiver. The head was wrapped in a rag. Lighting it on a wall torch, he aimed at the Plaguebearer.

'Burn, you foul spawn of chaos!'

The fire arrow flew straight and true. Coming to rest in the daemon's eye, it quickly ignited and an explosion tore through the room. The companions made for cover, ducking back from the doorway. Flames consumed the daemon and billowing clouds of fire destroyed its companion in a burst of disgusting filth.

When the flames had died down, Legless strode imperiously into the charred and blackened chamber. The walls were scorched and the only thing remaining intact was the mysterious, stone well in the centre of the room and a heavy, iron chain descending into its depths.

'Now that's how it's done when you're dealing with daemons,' Legless smirked.

'There's only one way to go,' the elf informed Merideon, who was shining his lantern down into the well. 'Down.'

'As dark a prospect as that is,' the noble replied, his face twisting with distaste. He dropped a pebble down. Straining his ears, he grimaced when he didn't hear a sound.

'Do we really have to go down there?' Kurt looked worried. 'Surely there's another way that we missed.' He glanced back into the corridor.

'Well, you can go if you like,' Legless stated. 'I'm vouching for the well.'

'It doesn't bother me whichever way,' Morgan said casually. 'Give me the scum we're after. I long to return to the surface.'

'Feelings I myself share,' Merideon sighed. 'Well, Legless, you go first.'

Legless leapt up onto the well's edge. He crouched and clutched the slimy chain. The shaft's opening stank like a privy that had just been used.

'I'll tug the chain when I reach the end. See you at the bottom, friends.' He disappeared into the darkness.

It seemed like an eternity passed as he descended into the depths. The stench was unbearable, and he wrapped a cloth about his face to mask the odour a little. It was pitch black, the only light source being the diminishing glow of Merideon's lantern above. The only sound he could hear was his own breathing, and below was utterly dark, as if he was descending into a bottomless pit. It was frightening.

Then, just when he thought it was fruitless and his mind turned to climbing back up, he glimpsed the slightest hint of light below him. Using his night vision, he thought he could just make out a rough-hewn corridor. Then, sliding down a little faster, he came out into the corridor. Dropping to the floor, he glanced around warily. He could see barely three feet in front of him, but he saw that the passage veered down and to the left. Straining his ears, he heard what might've been the low hum of chanting.

'This is it,' he mused to himself. 'This is the sorcerer's lair.' He walked back to the chain and waggled it back and forth. Then, hoping the others would catch on, he edged down the steps into the hazy shadows.

Kurt banged his fist on the wall. He hadn't found anything. He would have to go down the stinking well. He cursed the villagers of Bokel for making their catacombs such a warren of labyrinthine passages and stormed back to the well room. Soon all three men were descending the rusty, slime-encrusted chain.

'Istanius, irradeum, daemonicus adjoor, bellanora el daelum…'

There was a bang as the door crashed open. Zhar swore. His summoning of the Slayer Hounds had been interrupted. Turning, he motioned and the Bloodletter, the Horror, the Daemonette and the Plaguebearer started moving. His eyes flashed with rage. In the doorway stood an elf, clad in shining mail. A High Elf?

'I'm sorry, did I break your concentration?'

'Elf swine. You have no idea what I intend to achieve here.'

'And what is it, exactly, that you intend to achieve?'

'That is not for you to know, Asur scum. Prepare for assimilation!'

'For what?' But he didn't get a reply. A bolt of black fire flew towards him and he rolled aside as the dark magic scorched the wall behind him. The daemons were in motion, and he knew there would be no escape. The only option was to send them back to where they came from. Issuing his Asur war cry, the elf drew his sword and rushed into the attack.

'Now that was one dirty climb,' Kurt spat, brushing filth from his black coat.

'Keep your voice down, Waldheim,' Merideon retaliated.

'It doesn't matter,' Morgan growled. 'Can't you hear it? The battle has begun!'

The three men entered the vast chamber and looked at the swirl of melee. Daemons of all four Ruinous Powers hacked and slashed at the weaving elf, who was surrounded by enemies. He was bleeding in numerous places where daemonic weapons had torn gashes in his armour. On a dais stood a dark-cloaked figure, his head crowned with two curving horns. In front of the sorcerer was a pool of chaotic energies, its hellish glow casting the man into stark relief. Even as they watched another Bloodletter erupted into existence with an infernal howl.

'Attack!' Merideon waved his rapier. 'Legless needs our help!'

Without a further word the men charged down the stairs into the chamber. The clamour of steel split the air as the battle raged. It was intense, a fight to the death as the forces of Darkness strove to slay those who would interfere with their arrival. Zhar laughed maniacally, his hands moving in complex gestures as he continued his spellcasting. The Storm of Chaos might've failed, but he would succeed. He would take the village of Bokel as his base, and from there he would launch raids into the Empire. The power was his to command, he would have entire legions of daemons at his beck and call! Archaon would be nothing compared to him and soon the gods themselves would be forced to acknowledge his greatness! As another Daemonette ruptured the fabric of reality and tore its way into the mortal ream, he smiled and offered prayers to the Gods of Chaos for blessing him. None would be able to defeat him, he thought, none in the world!

Suddenly an arrow tore through his concentration, imbedding itself in his throat. His eyes went wide with horror. What was this? This couldn't be happening…

The last thing Zhar saw was the elf lowering his bow. Then darkness consumed him and a great evil claimed his soul.

With a churning of purple energy, the Pool of Dreams vanished. Bestial shrieks ripped themselves from the daemons' throats as the last of them were dragged back to the Realm of Chaos. Bleeding heavily from numerous light wounds, the Red Wolves collapsed, exhausted on the bloody flagstones of the chamber floor.

'Well, that was something heroic,' Merideon gasped. 'Gabrielle will be pleased.'

'Although Legless seems to have got all the glory,' Kurt mumbled. 'How much did you say the peasants are paying us for this?'

'Not much. It's probably not worth mentioning it until we get it.'

'HOW MUCH?' The outlaw was annoyed.

'Ten gold crowns, five schillings and tuppence.'

The look on Kurt's face was priceless.

7


	6. Chapter 5: Monastery of Terror

_Fellblade_

V

Monastery of Terror

Kurt Waldheim looked about as the Red Wolves rode into the dusty village of Deinste on the Middenland-Nordland border. Dismounting, he removed his bandanna, running his hands through his smooth, brown hair.

'Well then, chaps, let's get to the nearest stables and leave these beasts, and then head off for a drink, shall we?'

'Always thinking with your thirst,' Morgan grumbled, struggling out of the saddle with the jingle of harness and leather straps. 'Good idea though.'

'I agree,' Merideon said from the back of his horse. 'Follow me, men.' He cantered off towards a large, multi-winged building. Gabrielle was positioned neatly behind him. The elf and the dwarf, standing some three feet apart, exchanged glances before Skurdi grunted something unintelligible and made off after the noble.

'Well said, great and mighty leader,' the outlaw huffed. Replacing his bandanna he grabbed his horse's reins and tugged them eagerly. 'Come on, you old nag…' Surely there had to something better than this scabby life. He had been dragged back into the Empire, where his life was at risk, and not one female had fancied him. Perhaps here he would have better luck.

Legless stood alone on the windswept plain. Around him the winds of magic ebbed and flowed. He could feel the energy building up within him. It was like a power gauge, filling and filling until it was ready to explode. His eyes flashed open, and they gleamed with power. Gathering it in, he prepared to unleash it. Opening his arms wide, he furrowed his brow and shouted the words in Eltharin.

There was a flash of bright white light. Then nothing.

He blinked. The spell hadn't worked. He had meant to cast a bolt of lightning. He knew he had the talent within him; it was only now that his powers were awakening. Of course, fool, he told himself. It wasn't going to be easy. Far from it, it would be a long time before he could truly master the chaotic winds of magic.

Closing his eyes, he emptied his mind and concentrated. Slowly, the power within began to build up once again.

It was late, and all the drinkers had gone from the Black Stag Tavern common room. Except for Kurt. He sat in front of the fire, his legs stretched out in front of him. His head resting on one fist, he thought about the recent frustrations of his world and began to doze. As his eyes stared at the dancing flames and started to flutter closed, he heard approaching footsteps.

'You done, sir? It's just that we're closing the bar up now.'

'Yes, yes, I'm off upstairs.' He chanced a look in her direction as he got up. She wasn't bad looking. She was around his age, he reckoned. Cast in the fiery light, her high cheekbones and chiselled features seemed almost elf-like. Almost. Or maybe it was the drink getting to him.

'Is there something the matter sir?' She was staring back at him.

'Oh nothing, nothing.' Curse it, Kurt, he told himself, ask her. 'Perhaps, uh, you'd like to join me there?'

Her face turned crimson. Shoving her hands behind her back, she tried not to look embarrassed but failed miserably.

'Come now, you can't refuse me.' Kurt threw himself into it and flung an arm around her waist. Together they headed for the stairs. 'Do you know any good sea shanties?'

'So what's this, then, I hear about an evil growing in the area? About raids by wandering bands of ogres and trolls?' Morgan was trying hard to hide his excitement.

'I leant it from the villagers,' Merideon said smoothly. 'We set out to the south, to a ruined monastery in the forest. I'm eager to find out what's behind these raids.'

'More like you want to give Gabby some more grunt,' Skurdi muttered.

'What was that, master dwarf?'

'Never mind, human.' The slayer hefted his axe. 'Come on, elf scum, we've a nest of daemons to slay. Unless that is you're too weak to deal with such monsters…'

Narrowing his eyes, Legless followed the dwarf from the Black Stag.

'Watch who you're calling weak, stunted one.'

'I, however, will not be going forth,' Kurt said hesitantly. 'I, ah, have found a little attention that needs seeing to.'

Merideon raised an eyebrow at the giggling flock of girls surrounding the outlaw.

'Very well, Waldheim. Of course that means you'll miss out on your share of the treasure…'

'There's plenty of treasure right here,' Kurt snapped, turning on his heel and storming away towards his room. The adoring girls followed him like a litter of puppies.

'Youth and emotions,' Morgan grunted. 'Let's get on with it.'

A walk through the forest preceded their arrival at the ruined monastery. The air was slightly cold, the forest damp. Even the wind was non-existent. It was quiet, too quiet. The area was almost devoid of life. Legless couldn't even detect the usual stares of woodland creatures hiding in the undergrowth. Not a single birdcall or insect chirp disturbed the unnerving tranquillity.

'This is unnatural,' the elf mused, his cloak causing him to seem as if he was only half there. 'This place is uninhabited; we've left the track. There should be some signs of wildlife.'

'What of it, elf?' Skurdi was the first to bite back.

'Nothing,' Legless hissed. 'You'd think a slayer would recognise the distinct lack of life – a clear indication of a glorious death awaiting.'

'Hmmm…perhaps.' The slayer ran forwards between the trees. 'Here it is folks.'

The monastery stood as a jumble of stone arches and smashed glass. This was the remains of the main hall. The pews, rotting and covered in bracken and moss, lay on their sides and the alter was overturned and desecrated with bestial filth. A quick search amongst the broken columns revealed a set of steps, leading down.

'The catacombs,' Morgan grunted. 'How predictable.'

'Well, where else do you expect an evil sorcerer to make his lair in a monastery,' Merideon scoffed. 'Come on, this way.' He unsheathed his rapier.

As the elf brought up the rear, he felt a sudden chill running through him. And this feeling had nothing to do with the cold.

The first couple of passages, recently abandoned, still had the grey, stone floors. Only a smear of blood disturbed their common serenity. The wall torches were unlit, forcing Merideon to light his lantern. Instantly shadows leapt upon the walls, giving them the daemonic eeriness they all knew too well. Passing chests of mouldering parchment and shelves cluttered with smashed and broken bottles, no doubt the remnants of some apothecary goods, the companions trod carefully, ever aware for the raiders they were hunting.

The first signs of evil were the sounds of delighted shrieks coming up the corridor. Many eyes, glimmering with a strange, white light, emerged from the darkness. Belonging to a cluster of red-skinned creatures carrying a motley variety of weapons, they hinted at a hidden evil within their bodies and minds.

'Goblins?' Skurdi was amused.

'Look at their eyes,' Legless said slowly. 'They're possessed. Perhaps that explains the colour of their skin.'

There was no further conversation as the Fallen Ones launched themselves into battle. Before long it was over, the last red goblins fleeing into the shadows as their fellows were cut down. It was not a good fight, but it was one that would repeat itself over the course of the quest, for the Fallen Ones had a tenacity to return time and time again. Much to the Red Wolves annoyance.

Then came the undead, shambling hordes of skeletal archers and rotting zombies clad in monks' robes. It was obvious that these were the recent inhabitants of the monastery, killed and brought back by the side effects of some dire enchantment. Skurdi ducked as arrows clattered against a bookshelf overhead.

'Since when did the undead shoot arrows?'

'They must be using the tools of the monks,' Merideon said. He raised his pistol. The shot exploded one of the skeleton's ribcages in a flurry of bones. Skurdi's axe and Morgan's sword swept through the undead priests, scattering splintered bones across the floor.

'I pray for your forgiveness, brothers,' Morgan breathed as he sheathed his gold sword.

A bestial roar tore through the air as the ogre attacked the shining figure standing in the doorway. Armed with his golden blade, Morgan stood firm against the creature as it brought a huge club down on him. Rolling aside, he struck out at the ogre's leg. The blade cut deep. There was another cry as it retaliated, its club sweeping over the crouching knight's head. A shower of rubble came down as the crude weapon smashed into the wall. Before it knew what was happening, Morgan rammed his sword into the ogre's side. Pulling out the blade, he sidestepped as the beast flayed out, and then he severed its weapon hand in one blow. The templar circled warily, cutting and slicing at sword arm's length. Bleeding heavily, the ogre was still a dangerous foe. Retreating for a moment, he unsheathed his throwing knife and hurled it at the ogre's head. The heavily bladed knife stuck fast in the creature's shoulder, producing a roar but the ogre didn't fall.

Then the slayer rushed into the room.

'By the axe of Grimnir, die!'

Another ogre bellowed a reply in its uncouth language and rampaged forwards at the slayer. The two figures charged, a somewhat amusing scene as huge brute and stocky dwarf clashed. With a burst of sparks the slayer's axe was hacking into the ogre with primeval fury. The double-headed axe struck in a vast figure of eight, and like a tree being felled, the beast was slain, crashing to the floor with a cloud of dust.

'Now, that's how it's done,' Skurdi huffed. 'Start at the bottom and move up.' He eyed the other ogre and, leaping up onto the dead beast's corpse, launched himself from it onto the other's back. 'Taste dwarven steel!' The axe sliced downwards, cutting through sinew and bone and in moments the ogre's head was separated from its body. Riding down on the sagging carcass, Skurdi roared his victory and turned to attack a third ogre emerging from a hole smashed in the monastery wall.

As the battle between dwarf, templar and ogre raged, Merideon aimed his pistol. Waiting for the opportune moment, he skirted the combat, dodging away from pieces of rock and gouts of blood as they slopped across the floor. Pulling the trigger, he unleashed a hail of deathly shot against the beast. Riddled with holes, the creature roared and dropped the dead horse it was carrying beneath one arm.

'Nice shot, now I'll kill it.' The slayer grumbled. He leapt aside as a huge mace came thundering down to smash the flagstones into stone splinters. A follow up stroke from the dwarven axe broke the beast's neck with a sickening crunch.

Like a butterfly, shedding its cocoon, Legless shook free his armour and stretched his limbs. The time had come to try out the art of spellcasting. Down here, in the catacombs, he could afford to make mistakes. And if a goblin, skeleton or ogre got in the way, so be it. Immediately, he could feel the power coalescing within him. It sent a thrill through his body, like a warm electrical current. In the next chamber he would try out his powers.

The first thing he noticed about the room was the strange symbols etched into the floor. These were arcane runes, those of a wizard or sorcerer. Bookshelves lined the walls; no doubt this was the monks' library, filled with the litanies and prayers of Sigmar Heldenhammer. Then he noticed the glowing eyes in the shadows. Three pairs moved forwards slightly, drawn by his presence. It was then that he noticed the creatures to which the eyes belonged.

They were trolls, huge brutes with long, gangly arms and animalistic intelligence. But they were incredibly dangerous opponents. Legless began chanting the words to a spell, even as one of the monsters shambled towards him. The beast lifted its metal pike. Desperately trying to cast a spell, the elf tried to concentrate, but he failed. Before he could dodge aside the troll's weapon slammed into him, throwing him across the room. He made contact with a bookshelf, spilling tomes and scrolls upon the floor. Darkness claimed him.

Then the others arrived, the slayer giving voice to another war cry in Khazalid. The trollslayer ran towards the troll, axe raised. Staring with bestial intellect, the troll moved forwards to meet its opponent. Troll and trollslayer engaged in a rapid series of hacks and gouges, the axe opening up gashes on the troll's flanks. Skurdi roared again and cut straight through the troll's leg. In response the beast lashed out, catching the slayer on the chin. He spat blood, before returning to the fray with the disabled troll. Another string of chopping and hewing followed in bitter close quarters. The troll was tough, but no match for Skurdi's skill and size. The iron pike smashed down into the flagstones and Skurdi easily rolled aside, driving his axe through the beast's arm. Troll blood fountained on the floor, pooling in large amounts. Picking himself up, Skurdi slammed the axe again into the troll and was thrown backwards with a casual gesture. He landed heavily, and instantly knew something had broken. But he didn't give up, and each time he caused more damage to his foe. Bit by bit he wore the troll down. Again the beast hacked out with its pike but Skurdi caught the blow with his axe and followed through with a low cut, spilling more blood. As the troll reared in pain, he hewed again, cutting a diagonal cut on the troll's chest. Surprisingly, the troll struck the slayer, knocking him to the ground. But before it could capitalise, Skurdi seized a handful of rubble and hurled it into the beast's eyes. Disorientated, it roared and dragged itself forwards, hoping to crush the dwarf. But Skurdi dodged its clumsy attacks and chopped through its other leg. This time the troll was down properly.

'There's a reason we're called trollslayers, scum,' Skurdi roared. His axe spoke then, finishing the beast off with a blow to the neck.

The other two trolls, angered at the loss of their fellow, lumbered forwards. Morgan and Merideon stepped forth, preparing their weapons. The trolls were dangerous, and it would take more than a single slayer to bring them down.

'Take this, monstrous one!' The noble aimed his Hochland long rifle and pulled the trigger. The shot slammed into the advancing troll, punching a hole in its shoulder. Still the beast came on, Merideon hastily discarded the gun and took up his rapier. Swishing it expertly, he stood with Morgan and Skurdi to face off the trolls.

'Don't worry, we will survive this,' Morgan grunted, raising his shield. 'They're only trolls.'

'It will take more than a couple of trolls to finish Skurdi Kilgdar,' the trollslayer roared. 'For death or glory!' He broke ranks and charged into the trolls.

'Shouldn't that be just "For Glory" then?' Merideon rolled his eyes.

Skurdi hacked upwards at the troll. The blow connected with the bone club the beast was carrying, and it clobbered Skurdi. Shaking his head and spitting broken teeth, Skurdi hacked up again and this time sliced open the troll's forearm. With a flick of its other arm, the troll sent Skurdi flying backwards. He landed in a pile of rocks as the two men rushed past him into battle.

The Blade of Leaping Gold struck out, a dancing flickering of golden light. Where it touched blood flowed but the troll wasn't entirely stupid. It reached out and grasped the templar's shield, shoving it backwards. Morgan was forced down, and he grimaced as the bone club slammed down on his armoured body. He felt broken ribs. Scrambling aside, he returned to the fight.

'Take this, you beast,' the templar spat. The troll roared back, its piggish eyes squinting at its adversary. With a swipe of its claws, it scraped aside Morgan's sword and grabbed up the man. Then it grasped his arm and pulled it the wrong way. Morgan gritted his teeth as pain lanced along his limb. The Blade of Leaping Gold fell from his grasp and he could feel bones breaking. Kicking out, he spat at the troll as it released him. Staggering across the floor, he retrieved his weapon. He wasn't going down to a beastly troll. The knife came up and flew into the troll's chest. For a moment it looked down at the wound. Then it pulled out the blade and discarded it, giving vent to a roar of rage.

Merideon's rapier also traced a flurry of slashes across the other troll's hide. Confusing the beast, he tried to stay out of reach but it wasn't easy. Many of the wounds didn't bother the troll in the slightest, and huge sweeping blows cleaved the air above him constantly. Ducking and weaving, he managed to evade the creature's attacks, but it was a hard fight actually getting close enough to wound the beast. Pulling out his pistol, he let fly and grinned with satisfaction as a shot sank into the troll's chest. Surely that would slow it down, he thought.

The troll caught Skurdi's axe on its other arm and followed through with a vicious swipe. Again the trollslayer was sent flying. Morgan continued the fight, taking blows and fighting back as hard as he could with sword and dented shield.

The struggle went back and forth, the trolls variously hurling the companions back and suffering many light wounds in return. It dragged on, and on, both trolls, and men and dwarf tiring. It wouldn't be long before the trolls would be slain, but they were dishing out a considerable amount of damage. Morgan made a mental note to never again underestimate the humble troll.

Legless struggled upright and opened his eyes. The sounds of brutal beasts and the clash of steel on hide tore through his senses. He had been unconscious – and they needed him! Much longer and the others would fall to the trolls. They needed an advantage. Concentrating, he focussed on the winds of magic. He had to get it right this time. Shifting on the parchments and books, he stood and raised his arms.

There was a blaze of fiery light and a fireball engulfed the trolls in orange flame. Their hides caught alight and soon their lumbering attacks slowed. The wounded men staggered back, breathing heavily as the trolls burned, but Skurdi ignored the magic, hacking and slashing at the burning corpse in front of him. As the trolls finally came crashing down amidst a pillar of flames the slayer leapt clear and glared at the elf.

'So, you're doubly a coward? Elf, _and_ sorcerer? Why am I not surprised?'

After the battle with the trolls, the companions came to the tomb. It was the resting place of a long dead abbot, obviously an important man from the monastery's history. The sarcophagus dominated the room, a huge stone slab.

'The tomb's got to hold something valuable,' Legless said momentarily.

Morgan frowned, as did Skurdi, at first. Stealing from a tomb? This was somewhat dishonourable to the dead. But then again, who knows what sort of creature was buried here, with all the recent happenings? The elf grunted as he tried to shift the sarcophagus lid. It was heavy. After all, it was a sarcophagus lid.

'Give me a hand here. I could use some of your muscle-bound might right now.'

'There's nothing wrong with being muscle-bound, weakling,' Skurdi retaliated.

'Enough!' Morgan shouted with some of his templar authority. There was a silence. Since when did Magnus command them like this? Sensing the change in the atmosphere, Morgan gestured towards the coffin. 'Come, let's get this over with.'

The gold shared between them, Legless set fire to the body. To the background of flickering flames casting their hellish, red glow, the elf closed his eyes and focussed. Over a short period he managed to heal his companions worst injuries, setting bones and stopping the bleeding. It was a start on his new path.

At the back of the tomb chamber, a set of steps led down, deeper into the depths of the catacombs. The corridors down here were grimy, and filth encrusted. They were not grey at all, but more a shade of dirty brown. Layers and layers of dried blood and vile fluids had built up; it seemed, into a layer of repulsive muck. What had the monks stored down here, Morgan wondered as the stench of something foul assailed his nostrils.

They came out into a room centred around what looked a well with a chain. Bypassing it, they peered into another room, this one large and gruesome. This time blood was slick on the wall, strange torture devices and body parts littering the floor. What infernal place was this? Darkness enveloped the room like a cloak, and only with the lantern light were they able to see anything at all. The smell of fresh blood was overpowering. Legless, holding a kerchief to his nose and mouth, shoved Merideon slightly in the back, urging him to go in. Something was wrong about the room, something terrible, something chaotic. The place reeked of chaos.

'My friends,' Merideon began, 'stay back, I detect something amiss.' Gingerly, he stepped forwards and, holding the lantern high, shone its light around the room. There was an unruly mass of rags and furs in one corner. Upon it lay two black shapes. They were huge. As he crept closer, the noble's eyes widened. The shapes were moving, ever so slightly, as if they were…breathing. Suddenly, he noticed several large spines sticking upwards from the amorphous mounds. He started to back away, but his foot caught on something wet and squishy. Looking down, he gasped as a decapitated head stared back at him, its mouth fixed in a scream of terror. Too late, he scampered back to cower behind Morgan's bulk.

A low rumble heralded the awakening of the creatures. Like monsters rising up from a child's nightmares, the black things shifted and turned to face the intruders. They were hideous, sporting numerous mutations that sprouted like fungal growths all over their bodies. One of them had massive, curled horns protruding from a dark iron helmet, the other a giant crab claw that complemented the spines lining its back. Their eyes flashed with inhuman rage, pupils dilating that looked like tiny flowers.

The beasts were barely recognisable as anything other than creatures of chaos, yet one could perhaps realise that once, one had been an ogre, the other a troll. Now they were nothing but mutated monstrosities, corrupted by the influencing powers of whatever master they served.

Horrified, the Red Wolves backed away from the doorway. Merideon hastily reloaded his pistols as fast as he could, trying to concentrate but fumbling in his rush. Black powder spilled on the floor and shot went rolling across the flagstones. He cursed the gods for their lack of luck, and equally cursing his bag of powder. He was nearly quivering in fear, terrified that finally, after all this time, they would actually die. Many other adventurers had not seen the light of day after one quest, but they had survived and survived again, time after time defeating the odds. But things were different now. On a single job, their lives were over. There was no way they could beat these creatures, these machinations of total evil.

'Death or glory, die you vile abominations!' The war cry of Skurdi split through dark thoughts of failure as the trollslayer smashed into the chaos beasts. There was a flash of light as the runes on his axe began to glow. The troll gave vent to a ear-numbing roar as its nemesis slammed into its legs. Tentacles wrapped around the dwarf, seeking to tear him asunder. But Skurdi's axe bit deep, chewing into the corrupted thing's flesh. Like a woodcutter's tool, the weapon rose and fell, rose and fell, each blow punctuated by a burst of black blood. The tentacles curled tighter and tighter, squeezing the trollslayer. The crab claw, too, closed about the dwarf's leg, cracking bones with an audible crunch.

'Fools! Don't just stand there! Help him!' Merideon snarled, scrambling on the floor for his ammunition. 'Get in there, men! Charge!'

Like a machine being switched on, Morgan Keppler overcame his fear and rushed into the battle. The chaos ogre grunted in the Dark Tongue and strode to meet him, each footstep causing dust to fall from the low ceiling. The golden sword whipped out, slicing through tendons. Black blood spurted but the ogre didn't slow down. A gigantic, metal cleaver blade that pulsated with azure light swept down and connected with the knight. He was hurled into the far wall. Seeking to follow up on that attack, the monstrous beast thundered towards him.

Legless watched as the combat unfolded. If he did nothing the end was here. Beside him Merideon glanced back and forth between the battling trollslayer now hacking off the offending tentacles and the injured knight rolling aside from the fury of the dark gods. Sprays of rubble and crashes of metal and chains rattled around his head, hurting his sensitive, elven ears. Stepping back even further from the doorway, he went into a trance, desperately trying to summon the power he needed. If Magnus and Skurdi were killed, himself and Merideon would be dead.

Gulping a lungful of foul air, Merideon knew he had to help out. The troll's tentacles had been hacked off bloodily, but it increased the pressure on Skurdi's body. There was another crack as something else gave way. Skurdi roared in pain. He nearly dropped his axe, but instead directed its falling head into the troll's gut. Magnus wasn't doing too well either. The ogre strode imperiously around the chamber, hacking and swiping with its cleaver. Magnus was doing his best to attack the beast, but the ogre's hide was thick and sheets of chainmail covered parts of its body. The cleaver caught the gold blade and Magnus' sword was sent clattering off across the floor. Kicking the templar contemptuously, the ogre roared with what was probably supposed to be laughter. Magnus crumpled and fell, obviously injured further as his battered complexion testified. The ogre raised its weapon and below it Magnus lolled, dazed. It was now or never. Merideon pulled out his loaded pistols and took another breath. Then he went in.

'Die you mother-whoring bastards!' A hail of shot from the spinning barrel of his repeater pistol rocketed into the ogre's shoulder blades. Discarding the exhausted gun, he pulled out his other pistols and fired them too. Luckily there weren't any misfires as two more shots hit the ogre as it turned towards him. Blood was flowing down its back and with himself in the ogre's attention, Merideon twisted his ruby ring. Quickly, he vanished into thin air, leaving the ogre stunned.

The winds of magic were blowing strongly now. Gritting his teeth in frustration, Legless opened himself up to their force. Gathering in huge amounts of power, he shouted the words to the spell, not caring if the gods sucked him through and ended his life. If they didn't kill these beasts they would die anyway. Slowly, not fast enough for Legless' liking, he could feel the power at his command.

Then he unleashed the piercing bolts of burning upon the chaos beasts. His eyes burned with hellfire as he chanted the words, franticly and yet precisely so as not to mispronounce the spell. One mistake and his life could be forfeit. A dozen or so tiny, orange arrows sped out from his hands, striking the troll and the ogre. There was a mighty explosion as clouds of fire erupted. It was as if their skin conflicted directly with the magic. Burning chunks of charred flesh and ashen bones came raining down, in a constant storm of foulness. He could hear Skurdi roaring in Khazalid and see the wounded Magnus dragging himself along the floor, the blade of leaping gold in his hand. Merideon was nowhere to be seen. With a final battle cry, Skurdi chopped downwards, plunging his runeaxe into the troll's heart. There was an almighty bellow as the beast fell, like a collapsing temple. The ogre was on its knees, Magnus struggling to his feet next to it. Laboriously, the templar raised the blade and struck down. And struck again. And again. It was a dozen or so hacks before the ogre's head finally hit the floor.

'We've been recovering now for a long time.' Skurdi grumbled, flexing his back. 'Your sorcery does have its uses, elf.'

'So it seems,' Legless sighed. He was lying down, drained. Casting magic was no easy task, and the spell had worn him out. 'Perhaps we can respect each other at least a little.'

'Fat chance,' Skurdi scoffed. 'While I was doing the real fighting…'

'I was saving your skin, dwarf scum. If I hadn't cast that spell…'

'We all contributed in our own way, you lowlife peasants,' Merideon growled.

'Thanks be to you all,' Morgan said slowly. He had a black eye and a nasty scar. 'Now, let's kill this whore and get the hell out of here. I'm dying for a drink. Literally.'

'I agree,' rallied the slayer. 'Time to get back to work.'

'Now this,' Skurdi said confidently, 'is a challenge.'

'Challenge?' Legless stared at the dwarf incredulously. 'You barely survived…'

'Shut it, elf lad. I'm ready to die this day. And here is some beast to fall with.'

Before the party reared a vast chamber, crowned with a bat-winged, stone idol. A deep rumble echoed as the room's guardian approached. The dragon-like beast strode towards them, its upper body that of an ogre. In its hands it clutched an evil-glowing sword as tall as two men. Its eyes burned with a fierce light.

'Who are you to defile this temple of Verag?' The voice was thick with authority, and boomed like a great bell tolling.

'We are your slayers!'

'Skurdi, no!' The elf tried to stop the slayer, but it was too late. Skurdi shoved past the elf roughly and charged the dragon ogre, runeaxe blazing. Baring his teeth, the slayer met the huge sword as it came down in a giant arc. There was a mighty explosion of sparks as sword met axe and then the combat began.

The two men and the elf could only watch as the beast and beast slayer negotiated their way back and forth in the centre of the room. Time and again Skurdi dodged a blow that would've cut him in half had it connected, and the giant sword was fast. Already the dragon ogre was bleeding in a dozen places and the slayer himself had suffered many wounds. But his courage, or insanity, was immense. This was a potential glorious death, and his heart was in it. This was a foe worth dying for.

Time passed as the two combatants clashed. Eventually, the dragon ogre tired. Incredibly, the slayer's axe caught in the beast's scales. Using it to pull himself up, Skurdi struck out again, and bit by bit he climbed atop the dragon ogre's back. Unable to reach the dwarf with his sword, the monster dropped it and scratched, trying to dislodge his puny opponent. But each step Skurdi took, he plunged the axe through the hard scales, unleashing miniature geysers of blood. It splashed him wetly and soon his face and body were slick with it. The fires in the fiend's eyes died down as it succumbed to its wounds, and before long Skurdi was at its neck. With a long, last war cry in ancient Khazalid, Skurdi hacked downwards.

'Long live Skurdi Kilgdar!'

The trollslayer was enveloped by a fountain of blood. Losing his footing, he slipped down and fell heavily to the chamber floor with a crunch.

'What's this then?'

Cleaned up a little, Skurdi limped over to the stone statue, whose eyes had begun to gleam. There was a slight hum in the atmosphere, as if more magic had just activated. Legless narrowed his eyes. Was this gargoyle alive?

'It's a damned gargoyle,' Morgan grunted. 'Stand back, slayer. This one's mine.'

'Fair enough, friend,' Skurdi replied. 'After all, its nothing but a rock.'

The gargoyle's head was knocked clean off its shoulders. Unimpressed, Morgan kicked the statue off its plinth and watched as the whole thing hit the ground and exploded in a burst of rubble and dust.

'Over here! Help!'

Legless looked away from the warriors. Rushing over to a far corner, he found a prisoner chained to the wall. He was poorly, his hair hanging limply around his bare shoulders. Strangely enough, he was an elf. Without questioning, Legless summoned up energy and snapped the chains, surprised by his own power. Supporting the elf as he slumped, he set him down on the steps and encouraged him to drink from his waterskin.

'Thankyou,' the elf said slowly, swallowing precious water. 'Thankyou so much. I've been down here three months. I'm glad you came.'

'Who are you, friend?'

'I am called Aelenar, of Elkir. I came here looking for the Soulstone. If you are willing, I will tell you where to find it.'

'The Soulstone? What is it?'

'It must not fall into the wrong hands! It…it's a gemstone, ruby red in colour. You must get it, before…as to what it does, it traps a daemon within it, to stop that daemon ever crossing into the mortal plane.'

'I will recover the gem,' Legless swore. 'Tell me where to find it.'

'It will be difficult. It lies in an underground dwarven fortress. Here is a rune that will open the gateway beneath the well…'

Legless took the offered stone, a white rune shimmering upon its surface. He cast his mind back to the stinking well they had passed earlier. Down there? He sat down next to Aelenar, and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

'Don't worry, Aelenar of Elkir. I will find the Soulstone. We will set out as soon as you are back in health.'

'What did you get us into this time, elf?' Skurdi demanded as the party made ready to leave. Legless was supporting Aelenar, the other elf's arm around his neck.

'You better thank me in advance, master dwarf.' Legless' eyes glinted. 'I might well give you the glorious death you're looking for.'

10


	7. Chapter 6: Catacombs of Horror

_Fellblade_

VI

Catacombs of Horror

'You there, peasant!' Morgan bellowed from his horse as he cantered from the Deinste Village Stables, a packhorse in tow. 'Which way to the nearest Fiery Heart temple?'

'Uh, not sure, sir,' a small boy quailed, clutching his rake. 'But the old man does.'

'Then be a good lad an' fetch him, quickly now.'

The templar watched as the boy ran off towards a cluster of patched up buildings. With luck he'd get directions out of this backwater and return to his order. Then perhaps he could assemble a new army and bring hell to the orcs.

'You elf cur!' The man roared, smashing Legless across the face, knocking him to the floorboards. 'Stay away from my daughter, you hear?'

The disgruntled elf picked himself up from the floor and watched sullenly as the young girl exited the Black Stag tavern with her father. She didn't spare him another glance.

'Human filth,' Legless snarled. 'One day some beastman chief will raze this place to the ground. And good riddance I say.' Suddenly he found himself surrounded by angry men. They didn't look happy.

'Filth, are we?' One of them sneered. 'We'll see about that…'

Legless disappeared in the ensuing brawl.

Legless opened his eyes. He felt bruises and hurts all over his body. At least he was alive. Above he could see a dark, wooden roof, banded with rafters. The air was thick with the stench of straw, leather and horses. A whinny to his right confirmed his current location: The Deinste Village Stables.

Automatically he struggled to rise, only to find that leather straps were holding him down. What was he doing here? More importantly, how did he get here?

'Oh look, the elf's awake,' came a gleesome voice, in strong Reikspiel. Instantly his bonds were released and arms corded with muscle seized him by the shoulders.

'Let's get you to work, lad,' came another voice. His vision was bleary, but he could make out a tough-looking shape with a red beard. 'Keep him here awhile; that'll teach him a thing or two about a common man's work.'

'Aye, we'll do just that,' the first man agreed. 'Come now, wake up properly, there's work to be done!' A tankard of water splashed into his face and he jerked awake, blinking. Before him, hand on axe, stood Skurdi. Around him stood a group of grimy but nevertheless sturdy looking men.

'See you later, no legs,' the dwarf jeered. 'The rest of us are just going on a wee trip back down. Thanks for the runestone.' He waved the small elf rune Aelenar had given Legless. 'If I see any great, stinking piles of horse manure I'll bring it back for your chores.'

Legless scowled as the slayer departed.

'You know what you must do,' Aelenar, now clad in basic human-crafted leathers, told the gathered Red Wolves. He paused, narrowing his eyes. ' I notice there is only three of you. Where is Legless?'

There was an uncomfortable silence.

'Ah, he had some rather important business to attend to,' Kurt began. He felt that he needed to protect his companion's whereabouts right now.

'Business? With whom? There are no other elves in this village.'

'Well,' Merideon began, but Skurdi interrupted him.

'Just felt like he needed to molest some o' the young maidens here in Deinste.' Skurdi grinned nastily. 'Naturally, after some…persuasion, he thought it'd be better if he helped the humans by mucking out the stables, good laddie.'

Aelenar raised an eyebrow.

'Indeed? Well, I'll be back in my quarters when you return. If you return…'

'Bloody elves,' the slayer scoffed as the trio marched off towards the cleft in the rock. 'Always have to make things sound so tragic.'

Once past the iron gateway, the three adventurers advanced down a dirty tunnel, deeper into the earth. The floor beneath their boots was thick and brown with filth and grime, and the close air stank like a sewer. Before long they sensed the stench of unwashed fur and a slight tremor indicated something coming down the passage. Straining his dwarven ears, Skurdi could hear a faint braying. His raised his axe and grinned. It was time for his life's purpose: battle.

'Pull out your puny weapons, lads. The goat-beasts approach!'

From the far doorway the beastmen spilled, like a horde of fur and hooves, crowned with sharp horns. They carried a variety of rusted hand weapons and their reddish eyes glinted with daemonic light.

'Your death is here, Gors!' Skurdi shouted in Khazalid. Closing the distance, he swung out with his axe. The weapon connected with the wooden haft of the Gor's axe. Slicing straight through, the blade bit deep into the beast's chest, hurling it backwards. Leaping over the bloody corpse, the slayer swept into the next beastman, blocking an overhead strike and cutting diagonally downwards. The blow split the Gor in two and soon the dwarf was standing in a pool of black blood.

Kurt held his orc blade in two hands, for more control. While the beastman rushed towards him, waving a crude scimitar over its brutish head, he prepared for the impact. Then the scimitar came slashing at his head and he parried. Continuing his sweep, he brought his sword down to cut into his foe's neck. The next Gor came at him, curling horns like a ram's adorning its brow. The outlaw ducked beneath a swing from its spiked mace and struck out at its leg. The blade cut through sinew, flesh and bone, bringing the monster down. Standing over the felled Gor, Kurt smiled nastily before twirling his blade and stabbing downwards.

Merideon stood back from the fighting, trying to get a clear shot with his pistol. When he got one, he didn't hesitate and pulled the trigger. A cloud of black smoke erupted from the gun as the shot slammed into a Gor's forehead. It ground to a halt, killed outright by the pistol ball, before keeling over. Another Gor, distracted by the blast, changed its charge direction past the slayer towards the noble. Calmly, Merideon holstered his weapon and pulled out the other pistol. As the braying fiend came raging towards him, its axe raised threateningly, he kept his cool and aimed. If the shot was a good one, he could take it down before it reached him.

The shot cracked into the beast's skull, and the corpse crashed to the ground in front of Merideon's boots. He smiled smugly.

'Now that's the way to use blackpowder weapons.'

'Ah, a ruby. I'll be keeping this then,' Kurt sniggered, pocketing the gemstone and kicking the chest closed with a snap. Other than the stone the chest had been empty.

'Let me see that, human,' Skurdi demanded, palm outstretched. By the look on his face, Kurt knew the dwarf was serious. Begrudgingly, he took out the gem and handed it over. For a moment the dwarf inspected it, turning the small stone over in his hands. Then he raised his head and glared at the outlaw critically.

'This is no ruby, Waldheim. This is a bloodstone, a rare gem useful for certain tasks. I'll be hanging onto this for a while.' He tucked the bloodstone away.

'But…' Kurt started.

'Enough, manling! The passage continues on yonder. Come! I smell beasts…'

With more experience fighting against beastmen, ogres and trolls under their belts, the trio of Red Wolves came to a door resembling a metal-barred jail door. It stood slightly ajar, the flickering light emanating from below accompanied by a low rumbling, like that of a hungry animal.

'Finally, some more trophies,' Kurt mumbled, kicking open the door and standing at the top of the stone steps. He looked down into a prison pit, the floor of which was covered in straw, furs and filth. The room stank of dung. But what attracted his attention most was the horned beast staring back at him, its axe clutched in both hands. Giving a bestial roar, the Minotaur challenged the human. Gladly accepting, Kurt rushed down the stairs and into battle.

The Minotaur's eyes gleamed redly as it brought its axe down in a double-handed swing. Kurt raised his sword to parry, but the impact smashed the blade from his hand. The orcish weapon went spinning across the floor and Kurt was forced to roll aside as the Minotaur struck again. Lashing out with his boot, he managed to trip the beast as it thundered forwards on massive hooves. As it crashed forwards into the foot of the staircase, he circled the monster and scrambled over to where his sword lay.

Unleashing a hail of lead into the Minotaur with his repeating pistol, Merideon clambered down the steps and unsheathed his rapier. Slashing and stabbing in a whirlwind of pinpricks and bloody swordplay, he danced back and forth as the beast righted itself and howled in defiance.

'For the might of Grimnir!' Skurdi threw himself from the top of the stairs onto the second Minotaur. His axe cleaved into the beast's neck, sticking fast with the slayer clinging onto it. With an angry bellow, the Minotaur shook Skurdi free. Rolling to his feet, the slayer brought his axe up just in time to block the huge club that was descending on him. A hoof kicked out and the slayer was sent flying against the wall. Charging back at the beast, he engaged in a series of rapid hacks as both dwarf and Minotaur exchanged blows. Breaking apart, the Minotaur roared, revealing a set of decaying fangs. Skurdi roared back and shook his axe meaningfully. The combatants rushed back into combat, the club smacking Skurdi across the head. In return his axe skimmed the Minotaur's shoulder, releasing another trail of blood. Letting go of its club with one hand, the monster backhanded the dwarf in the face. Skurdi shook his head, spat blood and rammed his axe into the Minotaur's chest.

With Merideon occupying the Minotaur's attention, circling around it and daring it into the attack, Kurt grabbed a handful of fur and hacked a gouge in the beast's back. Climbing up, he held tight as the yowling Minotaur tried to shake him off. Merideon took this as an opportunity to step up his own attack, lacerating his foe's shins in a flurry of steel. Finally, with the Bloodletting Sword plunged deep between its shoulder blades, the Minotaur gave one last howl of pain and fell, Kurt riding the body down. Quickly, he knelt and began sawing off one of the beast's horns.

'For the Fighters' Guild,' he said to Merideon by way of explanation. 'I'll take the horns of the other one, too.'

Skurdi cut through the leg of the Minotaur, toppling it like a tree. With a cloud of dust and straw, the beast fell heavily, its club rolling away across the floor. Taking advantage, Skurdi dodged the pool of blood and clambered atop the beast's back. As it struggled to rise, he kicked it savagely in the spine.

'This is not my death,' he snarled, ending the Minotaur's life with a single blow. 'Do you think cow manure will do instead?'

'This time, I will triumph!' Verag, daemon of chaos, had found another statue to possess. His unique power was at hand, and he had no intention of holding back this time. He motioned with his jagged sword. 'Destroy the slayer!'

With a dull moan, the dragon ogre bodyguard lumbered towards Skurdi. Verag grinned, his elongated fangs protruding from his stone face. His stone eyes gleamed with red light and his whip lashed the air. Crackles of energy burst from its length. As the noble and the outlaw entered the room, he flapped his wings, stone splinters and rubble flaking from them as he rose into the air and flew towards his foes.

Once again, Skurdi was faced by a giant daemon-lizard armed with a weapon as tall as an ogre. But this time he had experience on his side. He knew the dragon ogre's strengths and weaknesses; knew its lumbering bulk would only work against it; knew he could easily roll aside from its sweeping blows and duck beneath the flashing blade. Attacking the monstrous titan from in close, near its four, draconic legs, he was able to slash numerous cuts in its heels and ankles. While the dragon ogre turned this way and that, looking for its dwarfish opponent, its weapon taking chunks out of the wall and floor in its frustrations, Skurdi kept up his rain of blows, spilling a steady stream of black blood around him. Moving agilely between the legs, he lashed out, the runes glowing brightly upon his axe. As one of the legs lifted up to crush him, he leapt aside and hacked into another, like a berserk woodcutter working savagely amidst constantly moving trees.

Merideon closed his eyes and activated his Doomfire Ring. Energies began to gather around him, bright red pustules from the wind of fire. Gathering them into his ring, he unleashed them upon the approaching gargoyle with all the force he could muster.

'Take this, you daemonic scum!'

A column of scarlet flame enveloped Verag as he drew closer. He threw back his head in agony; his dog-like jaws open in torment. Before the beast could retaliate, Kurt rushed forwards and hacked at the creature with his sword. The blade clanged off stone skin, but cracks emerged in Verag's stony hide. Laughing insanely, the daemon threw Kurt across the room with a gesture.

'You'll have to do better than that, human!' The daemon's eyes glowed like balefires in a harsh wind.

'Have a taste of shot!' Merideon sneered, pulling out his pistols and opening fire. The bullets rocketed into Verag's chest, punching him back onto the ground. Lashing his whip and sword, he snarled evilly and thundered towards the humans. His body was decaying, and now he would have to finish them before the statue was destroyed.

The jagged sword cut through Merideon's defences and slammed into his body. The shadow armour didn't save him and he was knocked down, the sword wrenched from his body. Rolling away, he avoided the next blow as it crashed into the flagstones, leaving a smoking crater where it hit. Chasing the struggling man across the floor, Verag laughed, each stroke of his sword leaving a glittering path through the air. Getting to his feet, Merideon did what he could but the stone skin seemed too tough for his weapon. Dancing out of reach, he glanced over to where Kurt was slowly rising, rubbing his back.

The outlaw rolled his shoulders. Suddenly, he realised where he was and raised his sword. That bastard Verag, he thought. His face twisted into a savage mask of hate and he ran towards where the gargoyle was battering the noble.

The jagged sword drew blood from Merideon's arm just as Kurt thudded into Verag's side, causing the gargoyle to stagger slightly. Turning to face the new threat, Verag bared his fangs as the Bloodletting Sword skewered his throat.

'Take that,' the outlaw shouted, 'and this!' He twisted the sword, opening a hole in the statue. Rubble crumbled and stone split as Verag was destroyed. With a howl of rage and frustration, Verag disintegrated into a pile of smoking rubble and dust.

'Well done, manling,' came a gruff voice. It was Skurdi, covered from head to foot in Dragon Ogre blood. Behind him lay the massive corpse, a stinking pile of scales, claws and flesh.

'So where do these Bloodstones go then?' Kurt stood in front of the shimmering, crimson portal on the far side of the room. Bordered by snarling, daemonic heads, it stood twenty feet tall and reeked of chaos energy. Beside the gateway, in a small hollow in the wall, were five depressions. 'It looks pretty obvious to me.'

'We're not putting them in, not yet.' Skurdi was grim faced. 'Who knows what lies beyond this gateway of blood?'

'But surely this is the way to the Soulstone?' Merideon raised an eyebrow.

'It could be, lad, but it could also unleash hordes of daemons. I'd rather live for at least another day.'

'What chance is there of that happening?' Kurt was sceptical. 'There isn't any other way out of here except…'

As he stepped backwards his boot caught against a metal rod in the floor. There was a flash of blue light and a swirl of wind ruffled the companions' hair. When the breeze had gone, a shimmering azure portal had materialized opposite the red one.

'What in the name of…'

'I say we go through that one,' Merideon suggested. 'It could be a way out.'

Skurdi spent a moment considering the two portals. The blue one certainly didn't _feel_ hostile to his dwarven senses. They needed to return to Deinste.

'Okay, we chance the blue one. And pray it gets back to the village.' He held up the handful of bloodstones. 'These…we'll keep for next time. Assuming this thing stays open.' He gestured at the blue portal. 'Come on then, manlings.'

The Black Stag echoed with the clamour of brawling and smashing bottles. The fighting was tense and bloody, and broken furniture littered the common room. Soon the fighting spilled out into the street, bringing the local militia around to investigate. They hung around the edges, not willing to break it up in case they themselves suffered a broken nose or worse, a smashed face.

Skurdi swung the splintered chair leg with all his might. It broke the man's jaw with an audible crack and the slayer followed through with a kick to his stomach.

'That's for insultin' my family, scum,' he spat, 'and this is for insultin' me!' He brought the chair leg crashing down on the back of the fallen man's head.

While the brawl raged inside and outside the tavern, Kurt ducked and weaved about the combatants, taking opportunities. A dropped purse here; a tumbled bag of coins there. He was able to procure a tidy sum. He was just about to make off back to his quarters when a sturdy hand clasped itself onto his shoulder.

'You'd better come with us, son.' Turning, he matched eyes with a broad-shouldered man flanked by two of the militia. This was their captain. How could he be so stupid? He cursed himself for his own greed. Seeing no avenue of escape, he had no choice this time. Panic soared through his mind as he was led away. If they found out who he was…

Merideon gave the drunkard a good kick even though the stinking man had already collapsed. The noble had suffered a few minor cuts and bruises, but nothing serious. This brawl had simply been an inconvenience. After fighting against beastmen, trolls and the like the last thing they'd wanted upon their return was another damned fight. Huffing in exasperation, he adjusted his clothing and swept away to find Gabrielle.

The militia hurled him roughly into the cell. Stumbling on the floor, he tripped and sprawled onto a filthy, straw pallet in one corner. The door slammed shut and he heard the jangle of keys, indicating that he was locked in. Naturally, this was a jail.

Cursing his luck, he eyed his new surroundings. Might as well get used to this place, he thought. After many adventures and wanderings, daring escapades and glorious discoveries, explorations, trials, a risky return to the Empire and masterful disguises to avoid capture, he had finally been arrested. But surely he had to be able to get out of here? This was no Barak Varr, no Altdorf and no Middenheim. This was simply Deinste, a small village on the Middenland-Nordland border. A plan began to form in his mind…

Three hours later, Kurt Waldheim slumped down against the wall. The stars were shining down from a midnight blue sky outside, as seen from the small, barred window of his cell. He had tried everything he could, but it was hopeless. Nothing could be done, it seemed. The walls were too strong, the door was unusually well constructed and the lock had nearly broken his lockpicks with the effort. The flagstones were immovable and the ceiling was too high to reach. There was nothing he could stand on to reach them either to search for a secret door.

He was stuck, completely helpless. And he hated it.

Suddenly, he heard a commotion outside the jail door: a crashing and banging, followed by several shouted oaths and swearing in Khazalid. There was the clink of gold coins on the stone floor.

'There, take ye money and be done with it,' a gruff voice growled. It was followed by a bright clang and Kurt jerked his head up as a familiar figure shouldered its way into the cell. His eyes widened in disbelief.

'Glad to see you too, lad,' Skurdi grunted. 'Now, let's be off, we've a drinkin' session to get back to…'

7


	8. Chapter 7: Nargond

_Fellblade_

VII

Nargond

'Human filth!' Legless shrieked at the surrounding men. He was out in the yard, armed only with a hoe. The sun was burning down on him and it was only early morning. He still had the rest of the day to suffer through. While the rest of the Red Wolves prepared to leap through a magical portal, taking them who knew where, he was still stuck here doing chores. 'I give up, I'm going,' the elf spat.

'Stay where you are, elf,' a large, barrel-chested man growled. He was clad in a chainmail hauberk and carried a sheathed sword. Legless recognised him as the militia captain. 'You'll do your penance, and there'll not be a word against it.'

'Make me,' Legless snarled, raising the hoe and taking up a fighting stance. The humans had unwittingly given him a weapon. Now he'd use it to leave this dung-hole and rejoin the party. Hopefully he wouldn't be too late before they left.

The man sighed, sword still scabbarded. He rolled his eyes.

'Look, we don't want any trouble, just…'

'You asked for it,' Legless shouted, rushing forwards.

The elf span the hoe like a quarterstaff. It whirled around his head, a deadly combination of wood and iron, the light glinting from its blade. As he neared the militia captain, who remained motionless, he let out a war cry.

'For the Asur, and the lost colony of…'

Suddenly an arrow sprouted from Legless's shoulder, knocking him backwards. Before he could recover, another impaled his kneecap, bringing him to the ground, where he fell messily into a pile of fresh horse manure. A tight knot of men surrounded their leader. But it was the elf, Aelenar, who strode towards the downed elf, his face emotionless.

'You are no longer counted amongst the Asur,' Aelenar hissed. 'One such as you who would defile the virginity of human lasses, you should be ashamed.'

'What do you care?' Legless spat up at Aelenar. 'Youth, I saw the…'

'I care not how old you are. I know that you must leave at once.'

'Or?'

'There is no other choice. These good men are our friends, our allies. And this is how you repay them? With constant attempts on their daughters and wives?'

'It's been a long time, Aelenar. I long for…'

'You disgust me. You will pack your few belongings and leave Deinste before nightfall.'

'But I'm with the Red Wolves. They…'

'Care not for you any longer. You are best gone from their company.'

For a moment Legless was silent. Then he struggled to stand, but could not.

'I will not leave here. It is you, who have befriended these pitiful beings, who will leave this place!'

The hoe came up, swinging at Aelenar's head. Just in time the elf dodged, evading the blow. But in doing so he let loose the arrow he had nocked. There was a thunk as the missile embedded itself in Legless's heart. Legless's eyes widened momentarily, his jaws agape in surprise. Seconds later his body crumpled, collapsing into the manure with a wet squelch.

A shocked silence filled the yard.

'Rest well, Legless of the lost colony.' Aelenar turned away. 'Dispose of the body as you see fit. Actually, you better burn it. I leave for Altdorf, at dawn.'

Morgan stood in the Deinste Graveyard. He knelt before the tombstone, reading the engraved, golden letters.

'Here lies Amanda Keppler, beloved of Morgan,' it said. 'She shall forever bring life to where there is suffering.'

Morgan cast his mind back to when Amanda had been alive. It was true, she had brought life. As a priestess of Shallya, she had helped those in need. But that was before the incident that had so cruelly taken her own life. For a moment the knight mentally paid his respects. Then he stood again, looked once more at the grave of his wife, and left.

The grey-haired trader, Weissner, narrowed his eyes. His spectacles slid a notch down the bridge of his avian nose.

'You sure about this?'

'Just take the damned money,' Morgan spat, shoving the pouch of gold crowns into the man's feeble hand. 'And give me the book.'

Somewhat reluctantly, Weissner handed over the large, leather-bound tome. As its weight left his hands, a burden seemed to disappear from his mind. No longer would he have to hide it on his premises. He had got rid of it, forever.

'What are you going to do with such an unholy artefact?'

'Not your concern, old man,' the knight grunted, running his hand down the spine. He turned to go. 'Remember, keep quiet.'

'Your secret is safe with me, my lord.'

'Estalian dog,' Kurt snarled, reeling from where the noble had hit him. 'I accept your challenge.'

'Good, good, I look forward to seeing you at dawn.'

'Wait,' Kurt mused, 'I've got a better idea.'

Before the noble knew what Kurt was doing, the outlaw had his blade in hand. There was a burst of bright blood as the orcish sword ran the noble through.

'What…you coward,' the man spluttered, reaching for his own blade but knowing it was too late. He stumbled, and fell, his gear crashing to the ground.

'Better to get it over with now,' Kurt growled. 'I leave at dawn.'

'But you can't go!' Gabrielle pleaded. She was kneeling at Merideon's feet, looking up at him. She looked so forlorn, her golden hair spilling down around her shoulders.

'I must,' Merideon sighed. He sheathed his rapier and checked his gear. 'You must stay here for I cannot guarantee your safety where I'm going.'

'But…'

'My dear Gabrielle…please, stay for yourself, for me, for us. I will return, of that there is no doubt. And when I do, perhaps I will have the key to unlock our destiny.'

'What do you mean?'

'I mean perhaps I might find the book I am searching for, that which will allow me to reclaim my ancestral home. Then we can have our very own kingdom. How does that sound?'

Gabrielle was silent. Her eyes were wet and he could see she was going to cry. But he had no choice. What was he to do – abandon the Red Wolves and the quest to find the Soulstone? He wasn't about to let the others get all the action. He needed to do this, to prove that he was worthy of Gabrielle's affections. And if anything, to prove that he was above and beyond the like of his companions. After all, they were nothing but renegades and outlaws. Kneeling down, he took Gabrielle's hands in his.

'I swear now that I will return to you. You have your training, your pistols and enough gold to get by. I must go, you must not stop me – the future of the lands of men could be at stake.' Making up some lie would most likely persuade her, he thought bitterly. But the Red Wolves were waiting, he had to go.

'Okay,' she replied. 'I'll wait for you.'

'Good, my sweetheart,' he said coolly. He raised her to her feet and hugged her close. 'Be safe, my Gabrielle, be safe.'

Skurdi slammed his tankard down on the bar top.

'Where in Grimnir's beard is the damned human? That portal could be closed!'

Kurt and Morgan looked away, both silently agreeing with the slayer. Suddenly the doors banged open and the noble stood in the entrance.

'What are you waiting for? The Gateway of Blood awaits!'

The four companions stood around the large, wooden chest. It was a heavy-looking affair, bound in bronze and locked with a large, brass mechanism.

'Do you think it's trapped?' Merideon drawled, his eyes narrowed.

'Hmmm…I think it is,' Morgan rumbled, chewing on a strip of tobacco. 'Kurt, use those lock picks of yours and get it open.'

'We have to disable the trap first,' the outlaw snapped. 'Stand back, all of you.'

The Red Wolves had passed the Gateway of Blood and fought various battles against beastmen patrolling the caves and tunnels of this strange underworld. Finally, after many hours of getting lost in the darkness, they had arrived at a small, square room adorned only with the treasure chest.

The two other men and the slayer took a cautious step backwards, gripping their weapons tightly. Kurt cast around and found a rock the size of his fist. Taking a deep breath, he threw it at the chest's lock. There was a metallic clunk as the projectile collided, bouncing off. Nothing happened.

'What in the name of Grimnir was that supposed to do?' Skurdi snarled.

'Just testing, master dwarf,' Kurt responded not too lightly. 'Patience…'

'Is a waste of time, manling. Now get on with it.'

Kurt sighed, cursing the impatience of fools. Taking his tools from his belt, he edged closer to the chest. It looked like just a battered, old trunk, but he knew that looks weren't everything. Kneeling, he gritted his teeth and prepared to roll aside, take his hand away or whatever it took to prevent himself losing a body part. Then he slipped in the wire and twisted. There was a sudden click, then nothing. Kurt frowned. He pushed slightly, and the lock snapped open. He shut his eyes. Nothing happened. Breathing a sigh of relief, he pulled off the padlock and yanked open the chest.

There was an apocalyptic explosion of white light, blinding all present. Kurt staggered back, clutching at his eyes.

'It's temporary, don't panic, manlings,' the slayer muttered.

After a while the light faded, and sight returned. The chest lay open, and in it was a suit of gleaming armour.

'In the name of Sigmar!' Morgan roared, rushing over and seizing up the breastplate. 'This is…this is incredible! The armour Valour, from the time of Sigmar himself!'

'I suggest you put it on,' Skurdi sneered, as the knight turned the various pieces in the light, adoring the small rubies and glinting gold. 'It'll be a lot better than that junk you're wearing right now.'

Morgan turned and was about to object, but then thought better of it.

The portal of shimmering, golden light reared in front of them at the top of the steps. It was a giant oval, sparkling like sunlight on the surface of the water.

'This is it, chaps,' Merideon said slowly, his jaw set in determination. He took of his hat, and held it to his chest. 'Any last words…'

'Get through the damned portal,' Skurdi growled. Shoving the humans aside, he leapt through. There was a shimmer as the slayer vanished.

'To riches,' Kurt muttered, his eyes alight with wonder at the portal's magnificence. Then he stepped forward and disappeared.

'Coming, Magnus?' Merideon's eyes never left the portal as he donned his feathered hat, whirled his cloak, checked his gear, and strode confidently through.

'I'll be damned by Sigmar if I don't,' Morgan spat. He looked left, right and then charged through into the golden splendour, a war cry on his lips.

'For the glory of Sigmar!'

Automatically he felt elated, thrilled. A vast plain of whiteness surrounded him, and he felt as if he was flying. Was this how the eagles felt as they looked down on the Empire from above? The motion brought him downwards slightly, and he felt as if he was being borne by something. His wounds were healed, he realised, and he smiled as he descended towards an area of greyness.

There was a mighty crunch as the three men and the dwarf hit the flagstones. Groaning, they struggled to their feet. Before them stretched a dark stairway, its end crowned with an elaborate door.

'What in the name of Sigmar just happened?' Morgan rubbed the back of his neck.

'Some sort of magical transportation device,' Skurdi replied, hefting his axe. 'Come, I smell daemons.'

The passage ran off into blackness, lit only by a series of braziers. As Magnus' boot caught a trip wire, a bunch of armed, thuggish men burst from behind them.

'You lot are trespassing 'ere,' one of the men scowled. 'Now, get ready to pay the price.'

'The only price we'll be paying is the time it takes to kill you bastards,' Skurdi muttered.

Several sweeps of a rune axe later, the slayer stepped over the bloodied and dismembered remnants of the thugs to examine a brass brazier on the wall. Taking hold of it, he gave it a good tug. There was the rumbling of stone on stone, and a secret door opened.

'Ah…I knew this was dwarf workmanship. Come, lads, let's get something to drink!'

The room was obviously a guard room, stocked up with barrels of good, dwarven ale. Skurdi pulled out his personal tankard and filled it up, and before long the party were gathered around one of the wooden tables, drinking to their heart's content.

'We'll spend the night here,' Merideon slurred, 'and then move on. I need a good sleep after those few…'

The four beastmen leered at the men, waving a motley collection of rusting weaponry. The four companions knew what to do. This sort of thing was far from new to them. Merideon gestured with his rapier, assigning one beastmen each. As the monsters bellowed and charged forwards, stampeding with heavy hooves, the Red Wolves moved to attack.

Morgan flinched as the axe collided with his armour. There was a burst of sparks and then his blade of leaping gold hacked into the beastman's neck. A burst of black blood fountained from it before it collapsed in a greasy pool.

'You will have no chance to strike!' Merideon sneered as his rapier slashed across his opponent's face. The cut left a diagonal line, weeping blood. Snarling bestially, the goatman raised its sword. True to his word, the noble darted back, his rapier flashing. A bloody figure of eight was carved on the beastman's chest. Then Merideon whipped out his pistol and put an iron ball in the creature's skull.

The orcish blade of Kurt Waldheim parried the wild attack and he rolled aside as the sword slashed the air. Kicking out, he knocked the legs from under the beastman, spilling it to the floor. As it made to rise, the outlaw came from behind and stabbed upwards through its gut. The blade burst through the front of its stomach as Kurt grinned nastily. Twisting his sword, he wrenched it out.

'What's taking you manlings so long?' Skurdi stood on top of his beast's corpse, his axe buried in its head.

After a thorough search of the room, they couldn't find any way out. Kurt kicked the wall, stubbing his toe.

'Self-inflicted hurt isn't going to help, Waldheim,' Skurdi chuckled.

'Now, if I were king,' Merideon mused to himself. He leaned forward in the throne atop the dais, chin resting on hand. Suddenly his boot touched one of the throne's legs and a hidden mechanism began to move. Rising quickly, the noble stood as the throne slid away to reveal a rectangular opening in the wall. 'Genius.'

'I am Rastin,' the sorcerer intoned, 'and my master said you would come. Now it is time for you to die.'

'And who exactly is your master, manling filth?'

'That is for you to find out, halfling.'

There was a moment of silence.

'Halfling?' Skurdi's face was aghast. Then he composed himself. 'Right, you're dead.'

The slayer rushed forwards, his axe raised. In one blow the table standing between the sorcerer and the dwarf was smashed to splinters. The next blow cut the man from neck to groin, blood spewing from the dying man's body. But even as he was killed, fell energies began to gather in the room.

'What is this, new devilry?' The slayer breathed. Suddenly, with four huge flashes of pink and blue sparks, a group of Horrors materialized. Instantly the slayer was locked in combat, battling against the foul minions of Tzeentch.

With the slayer busy, and Merideon and Magnus riffling through the bookshelves, Kurt kicked open the large, gargoyle adorned doorway.

A long room, cloaked in eerie half light greeted him. It was lined with more bookshelves, their interiors infested by scrolls, tomes and dusty bottles. Towards the end, a shadowy figure hunched at a large, ornate desk. Turning, the man pushed back his hood and glared at the intruder. His eyes glowed with a familiar, green light.

'Siareth?' Kurt was astonished. 'What are you…'

'It's been a while since you broke with me, traitors. Now you will pay for that treachery.'

'But wait! What's going on here?' Kurt didn't get an answer as a fiery bolt of flame flew from Siareth's staff. The warlock's evil laughter filled the air. The magical fire burned his face. Kurt gritted his teeth but the pain was too great. He cried out in agony, dropping his sword and collapsing.

'Finish him,' Siareth snarled. Stepping from the shadows, an armoured figure raised its deadly axe above the prone man.

Morgan and the others heard Kurt's cry. Toppling the bookshelves onto the slimy mess of purple daemon blood, the knight held out the warpjump spell jewel to Skurdi.

'Take hold of it, and together we can hand out justice.'

The slayer grinned wolfishly and there was a crimson flash as the knight and the slayer were transported.

'What!' Siareth stared, raising his staff defensively. The two menacing figures in front of him were more than capable of taking him down. And they were too close for him to unleash another spell. 'You scum…'

'For the blood of the fallen,' Skurdi roared, his axe carving through the staff and into Siareth. Blood exploded from the red robes and then the slayer was trampling down on empty cloth, the body vanished. Morgan's sword hovered above what was once his body's master.

'He's gone,' the knight hissed. 'Dead or not, he's gone. And good riddance.'

'Now, prepare to die, chaos warrior,' Skurdi bellowed at the armoured figure standing over Kurt's body.

In a flurry of blows, amidst the clash of steel, the chaos champions was felled like an iron tree trunk, crashing to the ground in a quake of metal.

'Quick,' the slayer panted, kneeling by the outlaw. 'He's still breathing.'

Merideon heaved Kurt's body onto the table. After ministering to the wounded man, he pulled out the scrap of parchment he had snatched from the book. As his eyes flickered over the scribbling, it dawned on him what it was. He smiled inwardly.

With the grinding of stone, Morgan and Skurdi heaved the desk back from its niche. Beneath was a trap door.

'The way out,' Merideon said softly. 'But first, we make camp here. Get some sleep. We continue in ten hours.'

By the flickering light of the fire, Morgan shared a pint with Skurdi.

'You slew Siareth,' Morgan said gratefully. He clasped Skurdi's shoulder. 'For that you have my gratitude and respect.'

'It was nothing,' the slayer responded, taking another swig. 'You would've done the same.'

'It means much to Magnus though,' Morgan said, 'me though,' he corrected. But Skurdi had caught his slip up. He raised his eyebrow, but said nothing.

'Get some rest now, manling. You'll be needing it.'

7


	9. Chapter 8: Siareth's Cellar

_Fellblade_

VIII

Siareth's Cellar

'Sigmar's balls, you're so fat!' Merideon sneered at the vast ogre trampling towards them. 'What did you _eat_ today?'

The Red Wolves had descended into what at first appeared to be Siareth's cellar. However, the creatures living in it were a bit heftier than the average rat.

The ogre stopped in mid stride, confused. Smirking, the noble swished his rapier and the men charged in from all sides. In a flurry of sword blades and dark blood bursting to spatter the floor, the beast was felled.

A shadowed corridor faced them, its end hidden in blackness. There were no torches adorning the walls, and the only light source was that of the lantern swinging gently from Merideon's fist. The stones were smooth, and clearly set.

There was something strange about the passage, something sinister. The atmosphere was tense, as if orcs were about to spring from the walls.

'This is dwarf work,' Skurdi growled. 'Siareth was sittin' on top of a dwarf fortress, by Grimnir.'

'We've made it,' Merideon breathed. His thoughts flashed to Gabrielle.

'Not yet, manling,' the slayer responded. 'We've yet to even enter it. Beware what horrors we may yet encounter.'

'Aye,' Kurt agreed, 'the Soulstone will not be lying there unguarded.'

The outlaw began to move forwards, his orcish blade unsheathed.

'Wait!' Skurdi reached out and grabbed Kurt's jacket, pulling him back. 'The place is likely trapped. A little caution on the part of you humans would do you good.'

'Whatever you think, dwarf,' Kurt spat back. His vicious scars running down his face made him look daemonic in the lantern light. But he stayed where he was.

'This is where we need a ten foot pole,' Merideon sighed, almost bored. He took a coin from his pouch and made to flick it down the corridor.

'Wait,' the slayer snatched the coin from him.

'It's not gold, you fool.'

'Watch your tongue, manling, or you might find it rammed down your throat.'

'Will you two shut up?' Kurt snarled. He snatched the coin and hurled it down the passage.

Nothing happened.

'Seems fine to me,' he snapped and started off.

'The coin barely weighs anything!' Skurdi was glaring at the outlaw. But it was too late. Kurt had walked cautiously across the threshold and onto the flagstones.

Silence.

He took another step forwards, onto a second flagstone. More silence. Just as he thought everything was safe, he heard a dull thump beneath the floor and a click overhead.

'Get down!' He shouted, throwing himself to the floor. In his rush his waterskin came loose from his belt and clattered to the flagstones, spilling its precious water.

His body hit the floor, causing a small typhoon of dust to rise. Immediately, he looked up to see the others standing around him. There was a mechanical grinding sound.

'Good work, Waldheim,' Skurdi grunted. He pointed at the corridor's end, where a stone slab was being raised up to reveal a large, oak door.

Feeling somewhat like a fool, Kurt struggled to his feet, sheathing his sword. As he did so he caught sight of his reflection in the spreading pool of water.

'Hmmm…not a bad look,' he mused, tracing a hand over the hideous scars on his face.

Placing his ear to the door, the outlaw listened. There was certainly something, it sounded like the tramp tramp of armoured boots on the flagstones.

And it was getting closer.

Kurt eased the door open with his boot. An excruciatingly loud creak echoed in the still air. Weapons at the ready, the party ventured into the next passage.

A long corridor greeted them, lit by burning braziers. Suddenly the door at the far end burst open and a troop of several hulking armoured figures marched through. They were heavily armoured and carried large, double-handed axes. Upon catching sight of the companions, their leader raised his hand and issued a command.

'Intruders. Destroy them!' The voice sounded metallic from behind the helmet.

Once again the Red Wolves were plunged into the cut and thrust of close combat. But with no wizard amongst them to act as a healer, they would have to be careful.

While Morgan and Skurdi carried out their usual combination of hacking, Kurt rolled aside as a huge axe swept through the air above him. He struck out with the Bloodletting Sword but the blade simply clanged off the chaos warrior's infernal armour. Cursing the gods, he danced aside again as the axe smashed into the flagstones, splitting one in half and sending stone fragments flying.

Merideon was having less trouble. His gunshots ricocheted around the walls, several of them punching through his opponents armour and slowing it down. A quick few cuts and slashes brought it to the floor.

As the ring of steel and muted battle cries of the warriors split the air, another dark form materialized from the gloom beyond the far doorway. Its armoured bulk far surpassed those of the warriors, and huge skulls leered from massive shoulder pads. A black cloak edged in scarlet silk fluttered about the polished, black armour, and two orange balefires stared out from behind a steel helmet fashioned like a grinning skull topped with majestic horns. As the champion entered the combat, he glanced about the fallen bodies of his warriors, and let out an angry roar.

'Mortals! You will die for this behaviour!'

Striding forwards like a juggernaut; he backhanded Morgan, sending him flying against the wall. The knight fell unconscious in a crash of steel plates. Skurdi killed his current foe with a chop to the gut and, shoving the corpse aside, charged into the champion. The giant axe head battered him aside and the dwarf was sent rolling across the corridor.

Kurt slammed his fist into the warrior's groin area and followed through with a swift kick. As the monster stumbled backwards, he lifted his orc sword and rammed its hilt against the iron helmet. The warrior fell in a heap, and Kurt was quick to spin the blade and thrust it downwards through the warrior's jugular.

Suddenly a huge armoured gauntlet grabbed the back of Kurt's collar and pulled him backwards. He was thrown a short distance, coming to rest against a dead warrior.

'What the…'

'You dare to invade this place?' A harsh voice intoned. 'My master will…'

'Be dead when we meet him,' Merideon snapped.

The noble stepped over the body of his foe, swishing his rapier menacingly.

The chaos champion turned to face Merideon, his eyes glowing. There was a bark of what was supposed to be laughter. For a moment the two figures paused, sizing each other up. Then the champion nodded.

'In here, human,' he growled. 'I will fight you.'

'Very well.'

The dark warrior retreated, cautiously, into the room beyond. Merideon glanced left, then right. The other warriors were dead, and his companions were groaning as they picked themselves up from the floor.

'Follow if you will, but don't interfere.'

'What?' Kurt asked rubbing his ears. 'What was that?'

But Merideon had already gone.

The chaos champion breathed and a wisp of dark smoke issued from his helmet. Merideon swallowed, but gripped his rapier firmly. This could possibly be the hardest fight he had taken part in as a duellist. Then the combatants closed in.

The champion's axe clashed with the rapier, nearly breaking the blade. Driving the noble back, he swung again, missing Merideon by a hair's breadth. Sparks flew from the evil armour as Merideon's sword scratched its surface. He quickly realized using such a weapon would be fruitless. Backing off a little, he discarded the rapier and unsheathed his Sword of Heroes, the blade gleaming orange-yellow in the light.

The giant axe dug into the ground. Taking advantage, Merideon thrust with his sword, feeling the heavier weight of the blade. The tip glanced off the champion's armour as he turned to intercept the attack. An armoured gauntlet grasped the front of Merideon's shirt and hurled him backwards to roll in the dust. Unperturbed, he sprang to his feet and rushed back at his opponent.

Ducking beneath the swing of the champion, he struck out at the champion's legs. This time the sword bit through the armour, slicing through flesh and bone. The champion gave vent to a howl of agony as he fell to his knees. With one leg nearly severed, he was an easier target for Merideon. The noble laughed cruelly, cir circling his downed foe. But he had underestimated the gifts of the Dark Gods.

The sword of Heroes slashed down towards the champion's shoulder. Surging to his feet, the champion raised his axe and deflected the blow with an explosion of sparks.

'What in the name of…'

'Khorne is hungry, mortal,' the champion intoned. 'And you are my prey.'

Just then Kurt entered. Seeing the battle in swing, he issued his own warcry and charged in.

'Kurt no!'

It was too late. The champion's axe haft shoved Merideon aside roughly and the armoured beast strode towards the intruder. Kurt smashed into the champion. It was like hitting a wall of steel and the dark one laughed with scorn. He swept the flat of his blade against the outlaw, sending him crashing into the wall. Before Kurt could rise, an armoured gauntlet picked him up and jolted him into the wall even harder, cracks spreading from the point of impact.

'This is a duel between us, mortal dog. You will die for your insolence.'

Kurt's body was rammed against the wall once more before he was thrown bodily across the room. The next thing he knew a sabaton crashed into his ribcage, lifting him into the air and then he was gripped again and hurled against the wall. This time he struck a wall horn and he cried out in pain as it impaled his shoulder. He hung there on the wall, like a trophy, displayed as a warning to those who would defy the Dark Gods. The orcish sword dropped from his fingers to clatter on the floor.

Was this it? Was his time finally at an end? Well, he thought, at least it wasn't growing old and feeble in the dungeons of the Empire. The champion glowered at him before raising his hellish axe.

'Prepare to meet your ancestors, human. The realm of chaos awaits!'

The axe came whistling towards his head.

Gritting his teeth, he closed his eyes and waiting for the killing blow.

There was an explosion of rock shards and splinters of stone, which cut his face. He realized that the axe head was buried mere inches from his ear. Incredulous, he opened his eyes to see Merideon holding his sword double-handed, and plunging the blade into the champion's back. With a roar of anger, the champion whirled, ripping the axe free from the wall. The two combatants restarted their duel with renewed vigour, trading vicious blows that, had any of them landed, would've cut a man in two. The sound of them rang around the vast chamber, ricocheting around the inside of Kurt's head as he hung there uselessly.

'I am going to have one hell of a headache.'

Morgan and Skurdi stood in the doorway. Kurt could read the expressions on their faces. As much as they wanted to help out, their sense of honour prevented them from doing so. This was Merideon's fight. And Sigmar help him if he didn't prevail.

Suddenly there was a rumble of wheels and a doorway opened in the wall. A vast machine, looking something like a crossbow but with a snarling daemonic visage, opened fire on the other fighters. As Merideon and the champion duelled, Skurdi and Morgan ducked and rolled as huge blasts of blue fire exploded amongst them. The ceiling was shaking and Kurt felt more trapped than ever.

'Will someone get me down from here?'

'Get Waldheim,' Skurdi grunted. 'I'll take care of the mechanical beast.'

Whilst the knight assisted outlaw, Skurdi rampaged across the ruined hall towards the arcane ballistae. He caught a blast and gritted his teeth as power surged through his body. But he continued on defiantly.

'By the axe of Grimnir, die!' The trollslayer leapt the last few feet, his runeaxe glinting. The blade chopped downwards into the machine, splitting wood and brass beneath its edge. There was an apocalyptic explosion as the daemonic engine collapsed, sending tendrils of azure energy rippling through the room.

The champion was tough. His armour was near impenetrable, even with the mighty Sword of Heroes. The killing axe was deadly, and had caused its own share of cuts on Merideon. It was time to end the duel quickly.

'Take this, you behemoth!'

Twisting the ruby on his Doomfire Ring, Merideon stepped back, flinching, as its hellfire was unleashed. Instantly a column of infernal flames overwhelmed the champion. Knowing his demise was imminent; the follower of Khorne roared with rage and, like a living torch, launched himself at Merideon. The noble barely dodged aside as the axe lashed out, connecting with the wall in a burst of flames.

'Well, this is the doorway to the dwarven fortress,' Skurdi grunted, gesturing with his axe. Before them towered a massive portal, its edge lined with angular runes. Tall, horn-helmeted statues flanked the doors, which were ajar. A darkened staircase lay beyond, leading deeper into the depths. The inscription on the lintel had been damaged and Skurdi couldn't make it out.

'The Soulstone awaits, my friends,' Merideon said coolly. 'Come, let us celebrate our victory.'

'I think I'll wait until I have the stone in my hands,' Kurt snapped.

'It was metaphorical.'

'I'm sure it was. Now, after you?'

5


	10. Chapter 9: Blood & Souls

_Fellblade_

IX

Blood & Souls

'By Sigmar's hammer,' Merideon sneered at the ogre striding towards him. 'You have a very large club there. I wonder if it's compensating for something else that's too small.' He chuckled nastily.

The Ogre frowned and growled. He was confused by the little human's talk. As it paused, Kurt, Magnus and Skurdi rushed forwards, each from a different direction. Before the ogre could react properly, battle was joined.

The knight's blade sliced across the beast's gut, spilling a torrent of blood and entrails. Like great, slimy ropes they slid onto the floor, tripping up Skurdi as he charged into the attack. The runeaxe smashed into the ogre, severing its left knee joint and bringing it down with a howl of pain. Blood laced its neck as the orcish blade of Kurt slashed horizontally, and then the outlaw twirled the blade. Twisting around, he slammed its point into the ogre's spine, erupting from its chest in a spray of gore. Arms flailing, the ogre groaned and dropped his club. Strangely, he tried to rise again but with only one leg operational, he found it impossible.

'Die, creature,' Merideon spat, pulling the trigger of his flintlock.

The ogre's head exploded like a melon hit by a cannonball.

Kurt, Magnus and Skurdi were drenched in gore.

'Well, that was unnecessary,' Kurt snarled. He flicked a piece of brain matter from his shoulder.

Having navigated their way through a series of largely ruined and abandoned dwarven chambers and halls, the Red Wolves had entered a section of natural caves and tunnels clearly leading to their goal. Broken dwarf statues and partially wrecked dwarf machinery cluttered the roadways and corridors of the underworld. They had already faced several traps, no doubt created long ago as a defence mechanism against intruders. Bones littered the floor, alongside rusting weapons and discarded pieces of armour. Morgan now knew better than to touch things he knew little about, and made a mental note to stay away from anything suspicious.

'Did anyone hear that?' Waldheim turned around, facing back the way they had come. He had detected what he thought had been a distant rumble of stone.

'Oh that's just great,' Magnus snorted. 'Now we're trapped in this hellhole.'

'The way lies forward, you peasants,' Merideon snapped. 'Now, let's move.'

After another two hours of trekking through the darkness, which was completely black as to obscure all but the immediate vicinity, they came to an area of the tunnel that resonated with strange, alien scuttling.

'What in the name of…' The noble held up the lantern, his rapier in hand.

A hundred metres or so, in the utter blackness, something was moving. Skurdi narrowed his eyes, trying to see what the humans could not. He started back, raising his axe defensively, then calmed himself.

'Cave squigs, a whole pack of the blighters.'

'Cave what?' Kurt was confused.

'Those things!' Merideon pointed with his sword as the monsters came bounding towards them.

They looked like dog-sized monstrosities, a combination of fungus and flesh but mostly dagger sized fangs mounted on squat, taloned legs. Various clusters of spikes and scales dotted the creatures' backs, which were completely hairless.

The first squig smashed into Merideon, knocking him over. As noble and beast sprawled, kicking and biting, another fungoid monster lunged at Kurt. He dodged aside nimbly before spinning and thrusting his sword through the monster's arse. It gave a whimpering squeal as it died.

Then another latched its infernal teeth onto the outlaw's arm. With a cry of pain, Kurt kicked out with his steel-shod boot. The blow connected with the beast's jaw, the jaw being unavoidable since it made up most of the squig's body. It opened its mouth to release Kurt's bloody arm and in response he rammed his sword down its gullet.

'Eat steel, you fungus bastard!'

Magnus shouldered another squig aside as it bounced off his mighty armour. Then he hacked it down with a splash of blood. The thing burst like a grape, showering the knight with crimson gore. He strode through the squigs like a god, swinging the Blade of Leaping Gold and slaying squigs with every strike. An enormous set of jaws clamped around Magnus' ankle, biting through the steel plate. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he lashed down and chopped into the squig, ending its worthless life in a messy explosion of fungus bits.

Skurdi was having less luck. The squig bowled him over and the axe went spinning off across the tunnel floor. As the monstrous fungoid thing leapt atop him, giant fangs bared, the Blood Letting Sword of Kurt Waldheim erupted through the thing's head, rupturing it and spilling blood all over the slayer.

'Thanks, manling, I owe you one.'

'Don't even mention it,' Kurt growled as Skurdi rushed to his fallen runeaxe. 'And I mean that. Don't mention it.'

With his clothes torn and bloodied, Merideon was nevertheless in fighting shape. He stabbed up with his rapier, spearing the squig from beneath. Heaving the corpse off him, he leapt to his feet and impaled another as it launched itself from the gloom.

The walls were painted in blood.

The battle was short-lived. In a matter of minutes the remaining cave squigs were bouncing away into the blackness, hopefully never to be seen again.

The giant gargoyle's arms began moving. Slowly, with the grinding of stone, they churned up and down directly in front of it, first the right quickly followed by the left. Then the arms were raised, ready to strike down again. Before they did, there was a moment where the path was clear. It lasted only seconds. Kurt gestured with his sword.

'Then, that's the time to go. When the arms lift up.'

They all subconsciously edged closer to the whirring blades. Time and again the stone weapons smashed into the floor, throwing up clouds of dust and shrapnel. Suddenly Kurt rushed forwards. But he had misjudged the trap and Merideon pulled him back, just before the jagged sword edge collided with the floor.

'You fool,' the noble snarled. 'Stay back a moment. There's no need to be so hasty.'

'Do you see other way through?' Kurt snapped back. 'I was going to make it.'

'Somehow I seriously doubt that,' Morgan rumbled, eyeing the blades again. The right arm lifted up, quickly followed by the left arm. 'You have to go as the right arm is lifting. Then the left arm rises in front of you, and then you're clear of the right arm as it crashes down.'

'No. I have a better idea,' Merideon mused. He fingered one of his rings; a purple gemstone marked with a golden rune. 'We'll use this.'

As the blades rose, one after the other, Merideon twisted his ring, activating it. There was a swirl in the air, as an immaterial force took effect. Time slowed down, and the gargoyle's arms went into slow motion.

'Now!'

Together, trying not to collide with each other, the four comrades hurled themselves past the gargoyle and its deadly weapons. They rolled and ducked just as the effect wore off and the blades came scything down. For a moment the party just sat on the ground, breathing with relief.

'Well, that worked,' Skurdi grunted. 'A dwarven made artefact, that ring.'

A little way down the passage, there was the telltale rumbling of stone above.

'Kurt! Above you! Get out of the way!' Morgan roared.

It was almost too late. Instead of rushing forwards, the outlaw paused to look. Instantly he saw a huge pile of rocks plummeting towards him from the ceiling.

'Oh shit.'

Kicking himself into action with reflexes he barely knew he had, he rolled aside. Seconds later the boulders smashed into the floor, sending rubble and shards of stone flying in all directions.

'Next time don't look, just run,' the knight sighed, rolling his eyes.

Slowly, with an eerie creak that sent chills up the companions' spines, the rusted, double doors yielded. Through the gap spilt a bright, red luminescence. Finally they pushed the doors open and gazed in horror at what lay before them. A vast, high-ceilinged cavern stretched up into a huge dome with a strange, square hole high up at the centre. All around swirled a lake of boiling blood, bubbles bursting constantly and spraying gore into the air. A single line of flagstones spanned the lake, spattered with slippery blood. In the lake's centre they could see an island, a bastion of stone adorned with human skulls and crowned with a giant, bronze dragon statue. Beneath the foremost archway sat an arcane machine.

'It's an Arcane Ballistae!' Skurdi yelped. 'Duck!'

Automatically, a fiery bolt of orange flame whizzed overhead. There was a crash as it hit the cavern wall, dislodging a rock, which proceeded to plunge into the lake. A huge spout of blood sprayed into the air.

The slayer, his eyes on the machine, barged into the others from behind. Standing on the blood-slick flagstones, they had nothing with which to steady themselves and, waving their arms desperately and issuing small gasps of terror, they all lost their balance and fell into the lake.

'Sigmar's blood!' Morgan cursed, floundering in the thick, inky gore. He was sinking quickly and paddled himself back to the pathway. Luckily he had shouldered his shield and so had both arms free to struggle back, dripping with red.

Kurt pushed himself back towards the pathway, also swearing richly. He finally dragged himself to his feet, drenched from head to foot in the stinking blood.

Treading water, or more precisely, treading blood, Merideon felt his boot catch on something beneath the surface. Panic flared as something else brushed by his shin. But in a moment he realised it was something to stand on, something to help him struggle back out of the revolting crimson lake. Looking back as he hauled himself onto the flagstones, he felt his gorge rising as a grinning, blood-slick skull bobbed on the surface.

'Sigmar's arse! What the hell is that?' He quickly regained his footing, not wanting to fall in a second time.

'It's a fish, what in hell do you think it is,' Morgan spat. 'Come on, let's get this over with.'

The noble flinched as another bolt of fire flashed past. He could feel its intense heat as it passed to splash into the lake. They were spattered with another shower of gore.

'Argh! Get it off me!' Kurt shrieked. What looked like a ropy snake was draped over his shoulders. With a shrug, he flung the intestines back into the blood.

'Well, aren't you lot one bunch of sissies,' Skurdi chuckled from the doorway.

'Shut up, dwarf,' Merideon spat, wiping sticky blood from his eyes. 'You coming or are you going to miss out on all the glory?'

'Warp Jump Spell Jewel…take me above!'

Morgan clasped the gleaming red gem in his fist and raised it towards the bastion. Gritting his teeth, he felt the warmth of the spell as it took effect. 'YEAH!'

With a thunderclap and a bright nova of red energy, the party was teleported onto the bastion in front of the dragon statue. Immediately they noticed a red-robed sorcerer standing behind it, chanting a dire incantation in the dark tongue. A glittering, red object hovered in the air before him.

'The Soulstone!' Merideon hissed. The gemstone flew to a point on the dragon's forehead and settled there. With a great heaving and buckling of metal, the cavern shaking around them, the statue's eyes lit up and began to glow.

'No…' Kurt said uneasily. 'How on earth are we meant to get it now?'

But before any of them could do anything, four muscled; helmeted warriors approached them from the steps.

'Time to die, mortals,' came a deep voice. The warriors were armed with huge axes and meant business in the protection of their lord and master.

One of the Karnaghs roared bestially and charged towards Merideon. He was massive, a brute more resembling an orc than a human. Sidestepping, the noble slashed across his foe's side. Turning, he plunged his rapier into the man's neck and then kicked him to tumble headlong down the steps into the burning lake.

'You'll have to do better than that, scum.'

Another warrior barged past Kurt to deal with who they thought was the obvious leader. The axe slammed into the noble's shoulder, cutting into his flesh. He yelled with pain and lashed out at the man. His sword stuck fast in the warrior's collarbone, blood leaking like a running tap. As the combatants struggled, Merideon tugged on his blade and kicked his opponent in the chest. This dislodged both weapons and with a squelching sound that made his blood run cold, the axe came free. The Karnagh gave a grunt and fell backwards, clutching at his neck. Then Kurt rushed in, orcish sword thrusting upwards through the beast's spine. There was an explosion of blood from the man's throat. Coughing bloodily, he fell forwards to hit the flagstones in a spreading pool of blood.

Morgan hacked left and right, alternately parrying the great axe and forcing the Karnagh to parry in turn. Sparks flew as the Blade of Leaping Gold met the axe head. Slipping on a patch of gore, the knight went down and rolled aside as the Karnagh snarled and buried his axe into the floor. Striking quickly, Morgan severed the man's leg and skirted away from the savage reply. Then he stabbed downwards, the point of his blade skewering the back of the Karnagh's neck.

'Die you mother!'

Skurdi was not having a good day. The Karnagh against him swept through his defence and he was smashed backwards. Dodging aside as the axe slammed into the floor, he cut up into the Karnagh. But the man was quicker. His axe swept back, parrying the runeaxe and then he gave the dwarf a good kick. Skurdi fell backwards and was forced to roll aside as the axe came down again like the weapon of an executioner. Not being given the chance to strike, the slayer growled low and stood, blocking another blow with his axe haft.

'Now, let me show you how it's done!'

The runeaxe gleamed and as both axes slammed together with an infernal clang, Skurdi's cleaved through the other. Before the Karnagh could recover, the slayer reversed the blow and cut straight through the man's neck. The head bounced several times before rolling into a pool of blood. Headless, and jetting blood like a fountain, the body fell to its knees and collapsed forwards. Skurdi placed his boot on the corpse and spat on it.

'Now that's how it's done.'

The acrid stench of magic tore through the air along with a blast of black fire. Magnus was thrown to the ground, the unholy bolt crackling through his armour. Knowing exactly where the attack had come from, he struggled to his feet and roared like a lion.

'Your turn, sorcerer!'

Running as fast as he could, he vaulted up onto the dais. Blows flew faster than the eye could follow as knight and sorcerer engaged in a deadly sword duel. The clash of steel rang and Morgan was surprised at the sorcerer's defensive skill. But it was not enough. The others watched from below as the battle played out. The blows of the sorcerer were mostly deflected from Valour, while his own armour was rent and pierced by Magnus' blade. Finally, the sorcerer was felled with a blow to the neck. As empty red robes collapsed, the knight treading them down in confusion, an evil laugh split the air.

'Kharon will live again!'

'Whatever you think, sorcerer,' Morgan rumbled, launching himself at the dragon. 'Time for you to go back to being scrap metal!'

As the knight drew Soul Edge from its scabbard, a huge claw lashed out and hit him. He was flung backwards to crash in a heap.

'What the hell…'

'The dragon…it's alive!' Kurt gasped, his eyes wide. Calming himself, he watched as the dragon's jaws parted revealing teeth like swords. Suddenly a roar rocked the chamber. All companions clapped their hands to their ears. 'You always want to do it the hard way,' the outlaw spat. 'Ok then.'

Kurt flung himself at the dragon's side. His sword clashed from the bronze scales, not even denting them.

'What! My blade does nothing? Gah!' He dodged aside as the dragon twisted to paw at him.

'Feel good, dwarven steel!' Skurdi roared, laying into the statue with his runeaxe. The blade burned bright, but it too clattered harmlessly off the bronze. Skurdi's expression of rage turned to one of surprise before the dragon backhanded him flying. He was sent over the bastion's edge into the blood lake.

Merideon didn't even bother trying to attack the dragon. Instead, he glanced around the bastion. There had to be another way. Suddenly, he remembered seeing the strange hole in the cavern's roof. Looking up, he thought about what it would've been for. This was once a dwarven hall, he told himself.

A series of posts surrounded the dais. The skulls adorning them had been added, he knew, but the way in which every single one had been decorated stank of suspicion. Experimentally, he smashed one skull into dust with his rapier.

Beneath it: a smooth surface, but one that could easily have been a setting for a button, or switch. If the hole above was for a lift, it would have to be activated from somewhere. Laboriously, while the others distracted the dragon, he went around the dais, breaking open the skulls and searching the posts.

By the throne, he found it. The post held a square switch there. Immediately, he slammed his fist down on it.

He could hear the grinding of distant gears, slightly muffled by the rock, accompanied by the clink and rattle of chains. Without warning, a square, stone box appeared from the hole above. It descended rapidly towards the statue.

'Look out! Above you!'

The comrades dove for cover as the dwarven lift crashed with earth-shattering impact into the dragon statue. There was an apocalyptic explosion of metal, stone shards and dust as both statue and lift crumbled.

'The Soulstone,' Kurt breathed, holding the shiny red gem in his hand. Within he could see a tiny, flickering fire raging. Instinctively, he knew it to be the daemon, Verag, trapped within the Soulstone, imprisoned for all time. The sorcerer had done their job for them, but of course for his own, dark purposes. Who know what he could do with a trapped daemon in his possession? Animating statues without having to summon another daemon was one thing.

As the outlaw made to pocket the Soulstone along with the Star of the West, it glittered with energy. Suddenly it flew from his hand to hover over an indentation in Soul Edge. Magnus stared at it, entranced. The gem revolved once, twice, and then settled in to fix itself permanently into the blade.

Instantly there was a flash of blinding, red light, which faded rapidly. Upon the blade a new name had been engraved in glowing letters: Fellblade.

Morgan roared with both pain and exaltation as new power flooded through him. The energy of a daemon was his to command. His arms spread wide as the power gripped him, snapping his head back and filling him with knowledge. The daemon Verag was trapped inside, forced to inhabit Fellblade and supply it with dire energies. And he hated it, raging against the gods for his incarceration.

Magnus' eyes flashed with red light as he composed himself. Looking around, he spoke, and his voice held authority; not that of a man but of daemonic nobility.

'The book, that is the way out of this hellhole.' He gestured with Fellblade.

A book, fallen from the sorcerer's pack, lay open, its pages fluttering. Finally it settled, showing a page that was blank save a rectangle near the top.

It showed a picture of a dark landscape, of blasted wastes and chaotic, multi-coloured skies. Strangely, the picture began to move, as if the viewers were soaring on wings across the depicted landscape. It drew their attention, tempting them to touch it, luring them into the page.

'The book…we go,' Morgan snarled. He reached forwards, his gauntlet brushing the page. In an instant, he vanished.

He felt a lurch as if his soul was being ripped from his body. Mind-numbing pain wracked his head, and then he was standing on the blasted wastes. Above the skies blinked with colours. Looking about him, he could see no way back to the Temple of Viscera. A chill wind blew, bringing with it a ghostly howl that faded off into nothingness. Kurt, Merideon and a blood-drenched Skurdi appeared behind him. He didn't turn, just stared off into towards the distant, red-purple horizon.

'Where the hell are we?' Merideon said hesitantly.

'Exactly that, boy,' Morgan growled. 'Welcome to Hell.'

7


End file.
